


Give Me Sympathy

by 0GVButterworth0



Category: Bandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bullying, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Relationships, First Time, Football Player Louis, Football Player Niall, Homophobia, Homosexuality, Love Triangles, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Masturbation, Niall-centric, Unrequited, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-14 20:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 170,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0GVButterworth0/pseuds/0GVButterworth0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall is the new, Irish kid at the American school, hoping to fit in.<br/>Louis and Liam are the popular boys. Louis is captain of the soccer team, Liam is the star player, but he'll trap you in your locker if you aren't looking.<br/>Zayn is the arty intellectual who has never met anyone from Ireland before.<br/>And Harry is the school psychopath.</p><p>Niall wants Louis, Harry wants Niall, everyone else wants to know what actually goes on in Harry's secret shack in the woods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The new kid was smaller than average, wore clothes that looked like they’d seen several generations before him and had crooked teeth that set his lips like he was constantly thinking on something very deeply. He stood before a classroom full of his peers who gawked unabashedly and frankly, didn’t get him.

  
“Niall,” a girl with long, brown dreadlocks and gummy bracelets sneered, “Is that, like a mispronunciation of Neil or something?”

  
“Niall’s from Ireland, it’s an Irish name, I’m guessing,” Mrs. Jordan informed them and the small group of clean cut, handsome boys in matching jackets broke out in sharp-edged titters of ‘top o’ the mornin’s’ and something about stealing lucky charms.

  
A soft push at his mid-back told Niall to storm the breach of 12th grade desks and carve one out for himself. He didn’t storm; he shuffled. His slow progression and desperate scanning for the first seat that would get him out of the public’s speculation gave him ample time to catalog the denizens of this new territory. There was a distinct gradient of popularity. In the front was the monochrome cluster of healthy, athletic young men, each of them achieving Photoshop ™ perfection and assuming pointed ‘no chance in hell you’re sitting near us’ attitudes. Behind them were the girls, trimmed to match their male counterparts, all of them notably average looking under their wet layers of artfully applied makeup. The plebeian populace followed, no more keen to let an untested element occupy their carefully sculpted and guarded social cluster than those before them and Niall found himself wandering further and further back into the room where the lights seemed dimmer. Here, the kids didn’t even bother to look up at him. They all had eyes that seemed like they hadn’t focused on anything in quite some time.

  
“You can sit here, if you like,” a high, fragile voice said. Niall’s attention swiveled to a strange figure with over-sized glasses and buck teeth. It was a girl with thick brown hair pulled atop her head with pony-shaped plastic barrette and a physique and dress sense that would lead one to believe she had yet to pass puberty. Glassy blue eyes stared up at him, then dropped swiftly to indicate the empty seat beside her.

  
“Thanks,” Niall said, achingly aware of the trippingly light ‘t’ sound he made instead of the hearty American ‘th’. The girl noticed it as well, but it made her smile and she said, “I’m Hannah.”

  
“Hi.” Niall sat down, relieved to finally be out of the line of fire of prying eyes. He took a deep breath, hoping it would bring him back into the comforting weight of his body instead of feeling like he was floating in shifting uncertainty somewhere outside of it. He pulled a notebook and a pencil out of his backpack which enabled him to curl over the pages and bring himself into focus by writing in a blocky, scrawling print, “Yes, Niall, you are really here. You’re really in America. You’re really surrounded by kids that look like they’re right off the telly. You’re really listening to some woman drone on about why diversity is important, while everyone stares at you like you’re a zoo animal.”

  
Things continued in Niall’s notebook like this for the majority of the class until he started to feel a tingling at the nape of his neck and a slithering up his spine. Animal instinct made him glance over his shoulder and see exactly what was hunting him and he was immediately met with a pair of piercing green eyes shaped in a predatory glower. The Irishman felt pinned and petrified by that stare, as if he’d checked under the bed for monsters and actually found something looking back at him.

  
It was a boy. It was a boy the same age as him, but the gaze of a war vet. He was so tall, his legs seemed to go on for miles underneath his desk like rivers steaming down a mountain. There was a bandana tying up wild, curly brown hair that couldn’t have been under the knife more recently than six months ago. His wrists were black with leather straps and he wore a Ramones t-shirt that had holes at the armpits and hem and was fraying at the neck. Everything about him screamed of someone who communicated with violence.

  
Even though he’d been caught, the green-eyed boy didn’t look away; he didn’t flinch, wince, blink, shirk or blanch, but just kept staring. He only moved to lazily roll a chewed-on, wooden pencil between the knuckles of his incredibly large hand, eyes targeted on Niall’s like he wanted to take him apart.

  
“Don’t stare, look away.”

  
Hannah’s underdeveloped voice brought him back and he looked to her for an explanation. Her eyes were locked ahead like a good student, but she leaned over and whispered, “That’s Harry Styles. He’s the worst kid in school.” Niall was inclined to look again, but Hannah hissed at him.  
“You don’t want him to notice you,” she insisted. “You know Patrick Sherman’s brother, Kennedy?” Niall did not know Patrick Sherman’s brother Kennedy, but now didn’t seem the opportune time to mention it. “Harry hit him so hard, his face shattered and he had to have his jaw wired shut for, like, a year. And you know Shelly and Sarah Akerman?” Of course not. “He held them at knife point and made them take their clothes off and—“

  
“Hannah? Something you’d like to share with the class?” the patronizing voice of Mrs. Jordan interrupted.

  
“No, ma’am,” Hannah insisted respectfully. As soon as the woman’s back was turned, Hannah leaned over again and whispered harshly, “And he has a shack in the woods where he tortures kittens.”

  
After that she was silent, leaving Niall alone to digest this new information. It was a lot to take in. He took one more centering breath, before curling over his notebook and scribbling: “Yes, you really, really are here. You really are in a strange land with no friends. And you really are feeling the eyes of the school psychopath bore into your back.”

~*~

Upon opening the door to his brand new home, Niall was greeted by a chirpy voice drilling out commands, “And up! And up! And lift! And up! C’mon, lemme see you move those hips!”

  
He walked into the foyer (his mother had been particularly impressed by the foyer when they were house hunting and Niall had to Google what the hell a foyer was) and peeked into the spacious, beige-themed living room. Their moving boxes were still piled in a corner, but the family took great pride in how far they’d gotten in their unpacking in less than a week’s time. The television had been the first thing to go up, secured on the wall above the fireplace, and it was on: A beautiful African American woman with a megawatt smile was rocking out on her step board, swinging her arms and not even breathing harshly as she continued barking commands at his mother: His mother, a considerably rounder figure in teal stretch pants and the baggy white T-shirt she’d gotten from Durty Nelly’s Pub on their trip to Australia, stomping up and down on the neon blue step board she’d asked Niall pointedly to dig out of their moving boxes the evening before.

  
“Oh, hi, honey!” Maura managed to huff out between breaths. “How was your first day?”

  
“Um, good, I guess—“

  
“And lift! And kick! And now we’re going to make it a little harder, ladies---!”

  
“You make new friends?”

  
“Yeah, some kids seem really—“

  
“And kick high! I wanna see the soles of those shoes!”

  
“Well, that sounds good, honey!”

  
Niall watched his mother’s back as her brown hair bounced up and down in its pony tail and realized that he was getting more of a workout than she was just by trying to recount his day.

  
“We’ll talk later, then, yeah?” Niall asked, trying to keep his voice light and unfettered. Maura considered making eye contact with Niall’s reflection in the television just as good as actually turning around to see his real face and she said, “There’s some leftover tuna helper in the fridge for dinner, if you’re hungry. And try to keep it down, your father’s working.”

  
“Keep it up, you’re doing great!”

  
Niall stared a moment at the woman on the television. It briefly crossed his mind to wonder if she was really that joyous and buoyant, or if, when the cameras turned off, she could be just as unsettled and lonely as he felt right now. It made him like her more to think she was.  
“Ok, ma,” the son replied, “Thanks.”

  
He turned back to the foyer and was about to make his way up the stairs, when he heard the exercise video turn off and his mother’s voice cut cleanly through the silence left behind, “Oh, Niall!”

  
“Yes!” Niall asked, skittering back into the living room.

  
“Take your shoes off, dear. We live in a no-shoes house now, remember?”

  
“Oh—“ was all Niall got out before the video came back on again. “Sorry. Right,” he said under the noise.

  
Once shoeless, he made his way up the dark stairs and padded down the end of the dark hall to the dark room at the end. It was lit by a single lamp with a glass shade whose panes had been painted with sparrows. The single lamp was on a roll top desk that was already piled high with a laptop, work papers and magazines. At the forefront of this setting was his father, a stout man of middle age with fully greyed hair and wearing the same glasses he’d bought in 1976.

  
“Hey, pa,” Niall said, hovering against the door frame. Bobby Horan glanced up at his son, but his eyes swiftly boomeranged back to his paper.

  
“Niall,” he said, not unkindly.

  
“I was going to warm up some food, I wondered if you wanted any.”

  
There was nothing but the sound of Maura’s exercise video in the background for the several moments Bobby needed to stare at the report in his hand. This completed, he glanced up at the door again, and, seeming to have forgotten he was mid-conversation with his son, said, “Oh! Um, you know what, I ate earlier. So, thanks. Just gotta plug away at this, you know.”

  
“Yeah. Well. I had a good first day at school, I think.”

  
“Good!” Bobby replied in the appropriate, sing-songy voice.

  
“There’s this girl in my class I who seems nice—“

  
“Good, good.”

  
“And my home room teacher is really socially conscious, so I think it’ll be easier for me, you know—“

  
“Excellent, good. Is she cute?”

  
Niall swallowed down his own breath. “Uh, what?”

  
His father visibly exerted effort to lift his eyes from the paper and come back to the real world, “Sorry?”

  
“Did you ask me if my teacher was cute?”

  
“What?” Bobby removed his glasses as if they were the problem. “No! Didn’t you say something about a girl? Something?” Instead of answering, Niall chewed on his bottom lip and rolled his foot in his shoe.

  
“Hey,” he said, ducking his head further in the room and looking around, “I thought this was supposed to be Greg’s room? For when he comes out to visit?”

  
“Oh, well , it is that!” Bobby replied, settling his glasses back atop his nose. “We’re going to put his bed over there and look! We’ve already put up the trophy wall.” Niall did look, as instructed. Sure enough, on the wall across from the window, every single one of his older brother’s trophies shone brilliantly on shelves that his parents must have erected very early on in their unpacking process, as if a moment couldn’t be spared in which they weren’t gloriously on display.

  
The football trophies were the biggest, but Greg Horan had also excelled in a cheap-plastic-painted-gold kind of way in swimming, wrestling, and lacrosse. There was even a comedy/tragedy mask trophy for a monologue competition he’d won in Cork. The faces had always looked grotesque to Niall.

  
“My office is still full of boxes. We’ll have this fully set up in no time!”

  
“Well. That’s nice,” Niall said.

  
“Mmm,” Bobby replied, his social energies clearly exhausted for the evening.

  
Niall didn’t bother his father with a farewell, since it would have been just another distraction to the hard worker and he didn’t mind the solace of his own room. It wasn’t entirely unpacked, but his comforts were near at hand. Upon entering it, his eyes immediately went to a faded green and yellow ribbon that hung from the brown nub of his bedpost. It read: “#1 kicker!” But it was not large, gold, plastic, or for anything greater than having won a school kick-off when he was 14.

  
After curling the ribbon in his hand, he flopped back on the bed and tried to relax himself with a heavy sigh. Tomorrow, he promised himself, tomorrow he would go up for the school football – well, here, they called it soccer – team and he would easily become captain. Once captain, he would be surrounded with just as many friends as he’d had back in Ireland and it would remind the Horan elders that they did, indeed, have a second son.

  
This conviction settled firmly in his heart, he was able to open the same notebook he had used in his home room class and write, “Yes, really, Niall, it is going to be alright. There is so much possibility, here. A chance for something new to happen. Who knows? Maybe this is the year you’ll fall in love.”


	2. Chapter 2

PART THE NEXT

Written in Niall’s notebook were the words: “I have fallen in love with a boy! His name is Louis Tomlinson!” Niall reviewed these words as he sat in Mrs. Hutchinson’s algebra class. He liked those words; he liked looking at them – particularly the last two. He had written them because earlier that day, his eyes alit on a boy that had not been there the day before. Niall knew he had not been there the day before because he quickly became aware that when Louis Tomlinson was unobstructed from Niall’s view, some arcane force dictated that Niall stare at him unabatedly. Louis Tomlinson was the only necessary source of light to keep a room illuminated. Louis Tomlinson moved in graceful, alluring ways that led all to behold him in wonder. Louis Tomlinson had a smile that made Niall go so trembly, he was momentarily concerned someone might think him epileptic. Louis Tomlinson had a glowing, neon sign, powered by a chorus of angels that hung over his head proclaiming, “THIS IS THE ONE” and Niall Horan was the only one who could see it.

“I have fallen in love with a boy! His name is Louis Tomlinson!” Niall had been shuffling into class when he first saw him: he was standing in the front of the room with the other boys, laughing. They all wore the same jackets: fabric except for the leather of the sleeves, each bearing the capital letter ‘J’ on the breast. Niall assumed it was some sort of school club, but would investigate it at a later date. It seemed his friends were happy to have him back after some shenanigans-related incident and sure enough, Louis Tomlinson wore a brace on his foot and held two crutches in his armpits. Louis Tomlinson made a brace and crutches look gorgeous. A girl hung on his arm, all sleek brown hair and innocent doe eyes. Niall pretended she didn’t exist. 

“I have fallen in love with a boy! His name is Louis Tomlinson!” Niall had spent that class observing him as discreetly as possible. “If you stare at someone long enough,” Heather leaned over to whisper, “They start to feel your eye-energy and it tickles.” Apparently, Niall had not been as discreet as he had imagined himself to be. Louis Tomlinson, Heather informed him, was Captain of the school soccer team and he had sprained his ankle the week before at Natalie Plympton’s house by attempting to jump off her roof, onto her trampoline, and into her pool. Louis had made his error, as anyone who was anyone in the school knew well, by missing the trampoline.

“I have fallen in love with a boy! His name is Louis Tomlinson!” Learning that this limping Adonis was captain of the football team made Niall reach unforeseen heights of tinglyness. The try outs were that evening and Niall was already nervous by merit of his being new to the school and untested against the American high school footballer – soccer player, whatever. The thought of those piercing, glittering blue eyes following his skinny, pasty frame as he scrambled across the pitch made him feel both superpowered and more likely to trip over his own feet. The stakes of getting accepted onto the school soccer team suddenly skyrocketed.

“I have fallen in love with a boy! His name is Louis Tomlinson!” Niall was currently seated in his Science class where he was supposed to be watching a video in which Morgan Freeman elucidated on the developments of black hole technology, but the potential of discovering means by which mortal man could teleport instantaneously did not fascinate Niall’s mind as did the words on the page and the import they carried.

But, my. They did carry a lot of import, didn’t they?

In fact, those baker’s dozen words were so heavy and precise that anyone who found this notebook, should Niall leave it carelessly behind somewhere which was not out of Niall’s wheelhouse would fall under no confusion as to whether or with whom Niall Horan was in love. In this gossipy, inbred climate, such a thing was dangerous. Leaning down into his backpack and rummaging through it under the cover of Morgan Freeman’s velvety voice, Niall procured a black felt-tip and it was in his third hour science class that Niall blotted out his words of truth for fear of such information falling into the wrong hands.

“I have xxxxx xx xxxx with a xxx! Xxx name is Xxxxx Xxxxxxxxx!” was what Niall’s notebook now read. It was the only way Niall was certain he could keep his secret safe. And safe it was until lunch, when, sitting casually under a tree with Heather and eating a banana, a slender shadow crawled up Niall’s leg. Lifting his gaze, he found himself face to face with Xxxxx Xxxxxxxxx. 

The blue eyes that stared down at him were curious but guarded and Louis rocked himself uncertainly on his crutches as he stood before the new recruit. Niall stymied his instinct to stand, since this was neither Victorian England nor was Louis a lady.

“So, I heard you signed up for the soccer try outs today,” Louis said, by way of introduction.

“Yeah,” Niall replied, hearing Heather chewing on her fingernails beside him.

“You’ve played before?”

“Yeah. Back in Ireland.”

“You any good?”

“I, uhhh—I won a kick-off a few years back.”

“We win state every year. Last year, we won regionals.”

“Congratulations,” Niall said, hoping that was the correct response.

“Yeah. So. Y’know…”

Niall didn’t know.

“Yeah,” he lied.

Louis glanced over at Heather, who immediately tore her hand away from her mouth as if Louis was about to chastise her. He looked disgusted but made no comment. Instead, he turned back to Niall and said, “Anyway. I’ll be watching the try outs tonight. I’ll see you there. Good luck.”

And then, Louis Tomlinson smiled.

Even after he had turned and hobbled off back to where all of his other sporting friends were standing by, waiting for Louis’ report on the new kid, the glimmering effect of the smile lingered in mid-air, like the grin of a Cheshire cat. Niall stared at it and the proceeding conversation was entirely forgotten in lieu of this proof that Louis Tomlinson was meant for Niall Horan. He felt swoony. He felt giddy. He praised every cosmic force that may have had a hand in delivering him into Jefferson Valley High School, where, as Niall would be telling his grandchildren years from now, he met the love of his life.

Come fourth hour History, “I am in love with Louis Tomlinson!” was blazing across the lined pages of Niall’s journal yet again. Security be damned, Niall thought to himself, Love was meant to be sung unto the overarching heavens! 

He was a little early to the class, his eagerness to write about his newly inspired feelings demanding that he find a desk and a bit of privacy post haste. The desk he’d found was tucked into the far west side of the room and he was huddled over his notebook, scribbling furiously, when the door to the classroom opened and a young man entered. Niall couldn’t have said whether he’d seen him before or not; having seen so many new faces in so short a time, none of them really held much distinction in his mind. The lad was clearly of middle-eastern descent, of average height, and his hair a sleek dollop of black atop his head. He was probably rather handsome, but the thick-framed, black hipster glasses atop his nose made it difficult to tell.

“You’re the new kid,” he said, his voice softer and higher than Niall had expected. Disgruntled at being interrupted, but far too polite to show it, Niall closed his notebook and said, “Yep.”

“I’m Zayn,” the other boy replied, unselfconsciously slipping into the desk directly across from Niall’s. “I’ve never met anyone from Ireland before. You read James Joyce?”

“No,” Niall confessed truthfully. 

“Oh. He’s one of my favorites. I have all of his books. If you want, I could lend them to you.”

“Thanks,” Niall said, praying it would never come to that.

“You write?” Zayn asked, eyes referencing Niall’s notebook.

“Oh, no. It’s more of a journal, really.” 

“I won’t ask to swap then,” the boy said, lifting a composition book of his own and wagging it in Niall’s direction. Although he couldn’t see, Niall had a pretty good inkling that the thing was filled with drippy prose and love poems with flower metaphors.

“Is the teacher going to be mad you’re not sitting in your normal seat?”

“Faris? No, she loves me. I could get away with murder in this class. History’s easy, you know? It’s all just storytelling. What are you doing tonight?”

This was a trap and Niall knew it.

“I have soccer tryouts,” he said, deftly avoiding the snare. Zayn’s bushy tail withered somewhat but he was undeterred. “After that?” he pried.

“Um…” 

Friends were not Niall’s strong suit. He was affable enough, but other people were sometimes difficult for him to read and it made him edgy. Long ago, as a child in the playground, he had made acquaintance with a little girl in a sand pit. She had a beautiful red truck that was bigger than any truck of Niall’s and it had a comely scoop that could even unearth good sized rocks. The girl had let him admire it and as he did so he said, “This is great! I’m going to sneak in your house and steal it!” To Niall, not only was this joke very funny, but it also illustrated his admiration for the toy, which no other words could seem to capture. To the girl, it was a spooky threat that made her cry and run to her mother. This was only the first in a long chain of unfortunate interactions in which Niall was out of his depth and he felt he might be fast approaching one with this new boy with pretty lips and a cheesy smile.

“Well,” Niall said, shifting compulsively, “I think the tryouts are actually going to go pretty late, so…”

It was a brush off and Zayn knew it. It wasn’t that Niall didn’t want friends. He did, desperately, but in moments of crisis, he tended to act defensively. As swiftly as he had spoken, however, he was reminded of his position of isolation in a strange land and he tagged on, “But tomorrow, after school, I could be – y’know. Free, if you want to do something.”

The disappointment that had relaxed Zayn’s face into a mature, sultry pout was instantly swept away by an enormous, goofy grin that made him look like a toddler. “That would be cool!” he said, leaning so far into Niall’s space he looked like he might spill into his lap. “There’s this game parlor on Hinky Street that has great chai!” 

Three things confounded Niall about that sentence and they were, in alphabetical order: chai, game parlor and Hinky Street. He didn’t know which to investigate first.

“You have a street called Hinky street?”

“It bisects the city on a lateral divide.”

“You drink chai?”

“Yeah. Is that weird?”

“I don’t know, I just got here. What’s a game parlor?”

“It’s like a café, but there are these big tables that you can play board games on and—“

Students were filing into the classroom, now, many of them charging up the aisle between the two boys, interrupting them without so much as a ‘scuse me. 

“Board games?” Niall asked, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. “You mean like—“ a girl with a retro Power Puff Girls backpack strode between them, stopped directly in the center of their conference to yell at her friend who was lingering a moment in the doorway and then carried on to the back of the class. “—You mean, like, backgammon?”

As they chatted, Niall kept his eye on the door, deftly scanning the flooding hoard for any signs of blue eyes and clunky crutches. To his disappointment, none of the blue eyes were Louis’ and there were no crutches in sight. 

“No! Well, I mean sometimes, but—“

“Candyland?” 

“Don’t be silly – Chutes and Ladders.”

Niall’s lip curled, “Is that like Snakes and--?”

“Alright, class!” Ms. Faris stood before them, a petite, beautiful woman in her 60s, comfortable in her spinsterhood and wearing her academia on her sleeve. “So help me God, no one will leave this class today before each and every one of you can explain the cultural influence of the Hyksos attacks on the Egyptians. So sit down and get ready to work.”  
Everyone liked Ms. Faris a lot. It wasn’t difficult to do, to like someone as self-possessed as she was. She followed the rules, but always in her own way, which by its nature, made you question the relevance of the rules, anyway. When she was generous and kind, you felt the steel of her backbone and when she was reprimanding and severe, you felt the warmth of her heart. Niall had a suspicion that if he ever turned straight, it would be for Ms. Faris.

They weren’t ten minutes into their lesson when the door opened and a dark knife of a figure lumbered through the door.

“Harry,” Ms. Faris smiled at him, “So nice of you to join us.”

The lad wore a bandana today, styled to keep his unruly curls away from those preternatural, pale-green eyes of his. He tossed the teacher a casual but sincere salute and, even though he was the center of the class’ attention, still managed to skulk like a thief to the back of the class. He was on the far side of the room from Niall, but all the same, when he was directly across from him, Harry looked at him, eyes cutting through the rest of the class with surgical precision to find him. It made Niall hold his breath.

Ms. Faris let Harry have his moment, maintaining the spell of silence over the rest of the students until Harry had settled himself into a seat that would provide him an unobstructed view of the little Irishman. Then, Ms. Faris commanded the room again, diving into the juicy soap opera that was the Nile Delta in the Thirteenth Dynasty, but Niall couldn’t truly pay full attention, feeling that gaze on him the way he did. Harry’s eyes were blades and they used Niall as their whetting stone.

As soon as the class was over and the students were gathering their things, Niall was swift to take cover in Zayn’s personal bubble and ask, “So, tell me about these games.”

“Oh!” Zayn smiled, not at all perturbed at being invaded, “A lot of them are fantasy RPGs. You ever hear of Runebound?” 

“Nope,” Niall said, keeping watch out of the corner of his eye and listening only out of the corner of his ear.

“Do you like fantasy stuff?”

“Huh?” Niall asked, focusing for the first time as Zayn gathered up his belongings and rose to leave the classroom.

“Fantasty stuff. You know, like elves and wizards and dragons.”

“Oh, well, I don’t really know all that much about it.”

As they made their way to the door, Niall looked over his shoulder to guarantee they weren’t being followed. 

“That’s funny, you being from Ireland. Well, leave it to me, I’ll have you casting spells in no time!” 

They weren’t being followed -- in fact, the Styles boy hadn’t even moved from his seat; and Niall even had momentary relief because when he spotted him, Harry wasn’t even looking his way. But then, as if he felt the eyes on him, his attention immediately rose and locked onto Niall, his face eerie for its lack of expression.

“Yeah,” Niall said, turning away quickly, “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

~*~

The Jefferson Valley High School field was a marvel compared to the one Niall used to play on in Ireland. The grass was lush and healthy, well-cut, perfectly chalked. The stadium seating looked only a few years old and all the paint was vibrant and shiny. And there were actual benches for the players to sit on the sidelines, unlike in Ireland, where the poor athletes had to fight to get a seat on the tattered wooden slats that were used for the spectators. Niall felt his heart swell at the sight of it all and his palms started to sweat just thinking about playing on the field. 

He was standing in the entry way of the vomitorium, admiring the view while the rest of the would-be soccer stars milled about in the concrete corridor behind him. It was only when he heard a mature, resonant voice sound out, “Ok, guys!” that he turned around.

The voice came from the kid who was one of the other boys Niall had seen in his home room class. He was tall – well, maybe he was tall, whatever – and he had sort of brownish, light brownish sort of buzz cut-y… Well, the truth was, it didn’t really matter what this guy looked like because he was standing next to Louis, so who was looking at him, anyway?

“Ok, so, for those of you who don’t know, I’m Liam,” the guy-standing-next-to-Louis said, “And I’m the center midfielder for the Pumas—“ The word ‘puma’ made Niall squeamish, but it was their mascot, so he had to get used to it, “—and I’m gonna be running the try outs, alright? So let me know if you have any questions. Alright, first thing you guys have to do is get changed into something you can get junked up, because I’m not showing any of you punks mercy. Then meet me out on the field.”

The echoing concrete corridor reverberated with the battle cry of pubescent men before the swarm disappeared into the locker room, where every one of them was hopping with excitement. Niall tore blindly into the gym bag he had packed that morning and gazed down on the red and white material of the football kit his older brother had bought him as a birthday present back in Ireland. He knew it was sentimental to wear it for tryouts, but he felt the need for every bit of morale he could muster. 

It was as he was changing into it, however, that he looked around and noticed that no one else was wearing anything quite so formal. In fact, the boys around him all wore what looked like well-loved, hand-me-down t-shirts and the most functional shorts they could find. Niall was immediately self-conscious.

He looked at himself in the mirror: yes, he looked professional. He felt that if he were to appear on the field like this, he would have to be the best player out there, because to wear a uniform made a statement. And that was a statement Niall Horan didn’t think he could live up to. His morale booster was beginning to backfire on him terribly.  
The clothes he had worn to school simply wouldn’t work. He’d been wearing jeans and a polo that, while it framed his broadening shoulders and trim waist perfectly, was unsuitable for charging around in the mud. 

One of the upper classmen caught a glimpse of him as he was headed out to the field and whistled, “Holy shit,” he said, “look at David Beckham over here! You got a fragrance line to match those duds?” It was a good gag and of course it got a laugh. All Niall could do was blush. Other boys, wanting an audience of their own, picked up on the joke and ran with it.

“You sure you want to play in the mud in those, princess?”

“You get confused and think you were going to the prom?”

“Didn’t know the Irish were so fancy!”

“Doesn’t he look pro-fess-ion-AL!”

Niall shrugged gamely and tried to appear unaffected, but he hurried out to the field as fast as he could without giving the appearance of running away. 

He felt better once he was under the open sky, on a field of green grass, but he felt worse once Liam and Louis caught a glimpse of him and, in unison, choked back mocking chortles. Turning tail and bolting suddenly became quite high on Niall’s agenda and he may have done as much if, when turning back to the exit, he hadn’t seen a lanky, bandana’ed figure with green eyes watching him from the other side of the gate. Harry was smoking, the tip of his cigarette burning a bright orange from where it was lodged between over-sensual, red lips. Instinctively, Niall backed away, seeking the safety of the gaggle of boys that had made their way out of the locker room and were now stretching and hopping up and down in preparation for their physical trial. Niall tried to do the same, but his muscles were struggling to unlock. 

“Hey, there!” A friendly, definitely post-highschool voice called to him. Niall turned and saw a man in his mid-forties, stout, but certainly not soft, greying but still spritely about the eyes. He wore the white-shirt, red-shorts combination that was practically uniform for all high school sports coaches and if that wasn’t indicative enough, he carried a clipboard and wore a whistle around his neck.

“Hello,” Niall said, finding the smile he reserved for the older set.

“I’m Coach Bartly, pleased to meetcha,” the man said, extending a hand which Niall took in a friendly welcome. Adults were easier for Niall, since he found them predictable and, even better, forgiving of his blunders, which in turn, made him less prone to making them. 

“Niall,” said the man himself.

“I know! Boy, I tell ya, when I found out we had an Irishman coming to our school, I thought to myself, I’ll be damned if I don’t put him on my team! This is all you kids do over there, isn’t it?”

Niall gave that some thought. He didn’t want to confess that, in his experience, there was a lot of time spent not playing football; primarily either sitting alone in his room masturbating or playing computer games. So he said, “Yes.”

It got a laugh from the coach as if he knew the truth, anyway. “Well, we’re glad to have you here. These are a great group of boys, definitely the kind of friends your mom would want you to have. And trust me, when you’re on my team, you’ll have your pick of the ladies,” he said, trying a little too hard to relate to the younger generation.

“Oh, good,” Niall said, but it didn’t sound right to his ears.

“Well, knock ‘em dead, kiddo,” Bartly said, giving Niall a familial pat on the arm with his clipboard, “Show ‘em what an Irishman can do. Like the duds, by the way.”

When he was gone, Niall took a deep breath and found solace in the older man’s vote of confidence, no matter its naïve foundation. He never would have guessed that his Irish-ness would be so attractive to these Yanks.

A sharp whistle cut through the air and the contestants turned their attention to Liam, who stood with a clipboard at the coach’s table. He spoke with a clear, commanding voice as he told the group what would be expected of them should they join the team, and what would be asked of them presently, to see if they should be allowed to join the team. Niall listened as best he could, despite the distraction of Louis sitting casually on the bleachers in clear, perfect sight, and Harry, looming at the gate, far too visible for Niall’s tastes.

The tryouts were simple, as far as Niall could tell. Running drills, ball-handling (which got a lot of snickers), and a shoot-off wherein the boys would rotate from offensive kicker to goalie. None of it sounded terribly difficult and Niall saw no reason he should be intimidated –

\-- that was, until the tryouts actually started. The boys were lined in five columns and asked to sprint the quarter length of the field. Niall was three rows deep and had to lift himself onto the tips of his toes to see over the taller, broader boy in front of him. 

“Wassa matter, princess?” Niall looked to his right and saw a boy in an AC/DC shirt who had to be at least a year or two younger than him, but was a good four inches taller than him. “Need a booster?”

Niall was relieved when they got to the front of the line and the jibe was quickly forgotten in the concentration of competition. He dug his toes into the turf and waited for the short chirp of the coach’s whistle; the second he heard it, he launched himself forward, digging hard into the earth and shocking his muscles into fierce, athletic motion.  
It was the fastest Niall had ever run in his life. Perhaps it was something about the American air in his lungs or the even-ness of the terrain, but Niall had never felt his body move with such efficiency. And this all would have been incredibly invigorating and uplifting if it weren’t for that he was still lagging notably behind the other four boys he was running with. Even when the last of them crossed the finish line, he had beaten Niall by a good six seconds. 

When Niall crossed it himself, he was panting and he could feel his face was pink. Thankfully, the other boys, who still looked as fresh as they had after changing, were too preoccupied to target his tardiness and, hoping his poor performance was just a fluke, Niall fell in with them, back into their five columns to run the drill again.  
Seven times, Niall sprinted that quarter stretch of field and seven times he came in last. Sometimes his last place finish was neck and neck, other times, you could’ve passed a train between him and the boy before him – well, a mini at least. And seven times was at least five times too many for the other boys to not take notice.

“Heels slowing you down?”

“Afraid the mud was gonna splash on those pretty shorts?”

“You allergic to America or something?”

Niall couldn’t help but glimpse to the bleachers where Louis sat with his crutches folded neatly beside him, watching the game. He caught Niall glancing at him, but let his eyes wash over him as if he was simply a continuous bit of scenery. When Niall turned his attention to the fence, he was relieved to see that the ever-watchful green cat-eyes had disappeared into the ether.

“Hey,” a broad, fully-grown shoulder bumped into his own. It belonged to a boy not much taller than Niall, but definitely wider and thicker. He had a mop of tousled, dark blonde locks on his head and his face was simple and round. “Don’t let them get to you – they’re just hazing you cause you’re new.”

Niall was pretty sure they were hazing him because he was rubbish at sprinting, but he was grateful and replied, “Thanks, man.”

“Sure. I’m John. And if they fuck with you too much, we’ll just beat ‘em up after school.”

He offered Niall a fist bump, in which Niall jovially partook, and proceeded to hustle off to where the other boys were getting soccer balls out of a large, grey trashcan on wheels. Someone had scribbled “BALLS” on the side of it in big, black marker. 

Niall fared a little better at ball-handling. Even though he was 17 years old and suspected that he had grown to his full height, he still felt that his feet were a little too big and ungainly. He was very good at keeping the ball in his control and sending it in the direction he wanted it to go with above-average accuracy, but when it came to anything delicate or intricate, he would fumble or, as in one mortifying instance, fall over flat on his butt. Of the clever, emasculating remarks, Niall gratefully deciphered none, although he was well aware of their being buzzed behind his back.

That this was not going well did not escape him. But glances to the boy on the bench and feel of patchy leather making contact with his inner arch reminded him that he was here with a purpose and towards that he would drive until either death or being laughed to smithereens overtook him.

And, furthermore, he’d be damned if he didn’t stick around long enough to compete in the one event he knew he did well – shots on goal.

The boys all stood in a line facing the goal, while the unlucky chosen stood facing them, defending the goal that was three times his breadth and at least half as tall as him again. It was organized to be a rotation; the first boy in line firing on the goalie, then the first boy in line becoming the goalie while the goalie retreated to the back of the line. Niall was at least ten boys deep and he was hopping on his toes in excitement.

“Whoa, there, Irish,” a voice behind him said. It was John.

“Oh, hey.”

“Look like you’re gonna achieve liftoff.”

“Yep. You know, in Ireland, I had the highest goal count on our team. Broke the record, actually. Got my name in the newspaper and everything.”

“Congratulations,” John said, and although his voice was flat, it was also barren of the condescension Niall would’ve expected from any of the other boys.

“Thanks! Some people said I might have the highest goal count in our town, but we never got a chance to—“

“What, was your town full of girls?” That was AC/DC, standing two boys behind John. “Just shut up and go!” he snapped, which made Niall turn around and realize he was standing against an open field with a goal keeper on the other end.

“Oh!” He said, and without hesitation, took control of the soccer ball in front of him, dribbled down the field, and once in position, let ‘er rip. 

It actually echoed a little bit. Of course, had the stands been full of spectators, the sound probably would have been lost entirely, but empty as it was, the high, plastic ‘pap’ of a soccer ball being kicked with remarkable force reverberated ever so slightly off of that metal shell.

The boy who was keeping goal was too slow to react to the ball in time and when he did react, it was to flinch away from the black and white rocket that had gone whizzing over his head. Niall’s shot wasn’t the first goal of the day, but it was the one that made everyone go quiet.

Upon realizing his success, Niall gave a little hop and squeaked, “Yes!” before trotting, in a flash of red and white, to the back of the line. There, everyone told him, ‘no, no, no, go to the goal’, before he turned around and did just that. For the first time during those tryouts, when Niall passed his peers, they stayed dead silent.

~*~

For the most part, everyone ignored Niall as they changed back into their civvies. Niall took his time, in part because he was exhausted from the workout and in part because he was hoping the crowd would clear out and he would have an opportunity to talk to Louis alone. When he had lingered as long as possible without seeming creepy, Niall went to the mirror and checked his hair one last time. It was while he was trying to get his cowlick to lie flat (or at least achieve a stylish tousle) that John came up behind him and gave him a congratulatory wallop on the shoulder. 

“There’s the MVP!” he said in that same even, somewhat ironic manner he had. With him were two other boys. One, a tall lanky blonde who, despite his stickman frame, clearly knew how to wield it, and the other smaller, compact with wavy black hair and thick black eyebrows. These, as Niall had learned throughout the course of the tryouts, were Ed and Sam. Sam had been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of one of Niall’s kicks and commemorated it by saying, “I love playing goalie, man, but not when facing you.”

Niall smiled brightly at him and took it for the compliment it was. “Thanks, man!”

“Hope to see you on the team this year,” John said, rumpling Niall’s carefully arranged hair and heading for the door. 

“Yeah, man, you’re amazing,” Ed joined in and Sam gave Niall a fist bump before the three of them disappeared through the gym door.

Niall took a moment to bask in this victorious feeling of happiness before he followed them. 

Things were quieter now. Most of the athletes had left and those who hadn’t had separated themselves off into small, undisruptive clusters. Niall began searching for Louis when he heard harsh voices and disquieting thumps coming from the narrow alley between two sets of bleachers. Against his better judgment, Niall investigated.  
It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness after being under the stadium lights, but when they did, he saw three boys, each of them letter-jacketed, each of them kicking furiously at something on the ground. 

Conflicting instincts were at war in Niall in that moment. The thought of someone getting brutally beaten in this unthinkable manner made something lion-like rear inside him and he envisioned himself charging the lot of them, putting them in their place. But then something smaller, shriller and more realistic made itself heard and it reminded him that he was undersized, had never fought anything in his life, and tended to crumple if he felt pain any more acute than that of a stubbed toe. Therefore, much to his shame, unable to intervene or run away, he watched.

After another minute, the three boys decided their prey was tenderized enough and their kicks became less ferocious. 

“Now you’ve been fucking told,” one of them said.

“This is our turf,” another threw in on top of the first.

“You’re a fucking freak, Styles,” said a voice Niall recognized. “Stay the hell away from the field, you got me?”

“Liam?” Niall certainly hadn’t intended to say anything, but the notion of Liam, who had stood so gloriously before him with mighty clipboard and sparkling whistle, beating someone up under the bleachers startled him into stupidly calling attention to himself. The three boys turned and Niall saw that he had identified at least one of them correctly. To the other two, he hadn’t been properly introduced, but he knew enough to know they were Max and Jared. And none of them looked happy.

“It’s that Irish kid,” Jared said, looking as startled as Niall was by finding him there.

Liam just snorted a little bit and slowly advanced toward him in a way that made Niall very uneasy. “Neil,” he said and Niall was in no mood to correct him, “Just get lost, alright? I’m tired and it’d suck to have to lay into you, too.”

The threat was dire enough that Niall knew he should’ve turned tail and run, but he was frozen in his spot by the dark shape that rose up behind his mid center fielder and, as deftly as a puma, threw himself into an unsuspecting Max. This subsequently drove Max into Liam and the pair of them went toppling to the ground in a jumble of well-muscled limbs. Before Jared had even registered what had happened, Harry had him by his letter-pinned lapel, and proceeded to smash his fist into the boy’s face.  
Harry didn’t punch like a boy. He punched like the sailors had punched each other that one time Greg had snuck Niall into a pub when he was 14. He punched like he meant it and like he’d done it hundreds of times before. It didn’t take many of those blows before Jared’s legs gave out and he fell into the soft grass. But Harry was already moving away from him, taking hold of Max’ shirt as he was still half-crouched from his attempt to stand and driving him forward into one of the metal pillars used to keep the stadium aloft. Whether by luck or by design Niall didn’t know, but thankfully Max didn’t meet the pillar head-on, but took it half on his neck and half on his collarbone. Something definitely broke, judging by the way he screamed and clutched at his shoulder.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Liam was backing away with remarkable dexterity, “Fuck’s sake, Styles, back off!” 

It was the first time Niall got a good look at the victim-cum-aggressor. His cheek was pink and starting to swell and there was a lot of blood in his teeth. He was limping and favoring his right side, but there was still death and fury in his eyes and Niall doubted Liam would be talking his way out of this.

“Dude, you fuck with me, what do you think they’re gonna do to you, man?” Liam tried anyway, “You lay a fucking finger on me, what you think they’re gonna do?”

Max was tending to Jared now, getting him on his feet while he cradled his face. Jared was clearly in a bad way, unable to move without hissing or yelping in pain. Still, Liam had Harry’s attention and Harry’s fists came up, making his intentions clear.

“Aw, shit,” Liam muttered under his breath, bringing his hands up as well, accepting his fate.

“Guys—“ Niall said weakly, uncertain whether he could stomach more carnage, but his plea was cut short by Harry swinging, a feint to the left that had Liam stupidly dodging directly into the right that Harry swung his way. It connected with Liam’s cheekbone, well enough to make his head snap back, and then Harry was on him, a trio of low, sharp blows to his stomach and an elbow to the nose. Niall couldn’t take it.

“Stop!” he barked, his voice deeper and harsher than he knew it could go. “Stop!” he cried again, running forward and grabbing for the nearest limb he could find, which happened to be Harry’s arm. When Harry drew back to land another punch, his elbow caught Niall in the throat and the Irishman gagged briefly, staggering back and coughing to find his air. It took a moment for his vision to clear and when it did, he saw Harry let Liam drop to the ground as he watched Niall with what looked like curiosity.

“Let’s just fucking go,” Max said, through a mouthful of teeth he should’ve been grateful have kept. “We gotta get Jared to a hospital or something.” The three letter jackets consolidated, backing away defensively out of the alley.

“This isn’t over, Styles,” Liam growled, holding his abdomen where Harry had gutted him. “We are going to find you and we are going to fuck you up!” 

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Styles!” Jared managed to snarl as they left the alley. After they were out of eyesight on the far side of the bleachers, Jared followed up, “And the entire school will fucking thank me for it!”

Then, Harry and Niall were left alone in the dark. Niall wanted to run away, but he didn’t doubt how fast Harry could be if he was still feeling violent. He felt like he was trapped with a viper and his best bet was to stay still. 

After a few moments of nothing happening, Niall suddenly felt it might be time to speak. So, he said the only thing he could think of, “You ok?” and it was stupid.

Harry didn’t reply. But it did spur him into action and he pushed his fingers in his mouth and dug around a little bit. When they came out, they were covered in blood and clenching something oddly shaped and red.

“What is that?” Niall asked.

Harry lifted his hand slightly, letting the small bit of moonlight that filtered through the bleachers catch the object. It was a tooth – a molar, by the look of it.

“Oh, my god.” Niall felt sick. “Why did they do that? Why do they hate you?”

Harry just turned and spat a wad of spit and blood into the dirt. “They’re assholes,” he said. His voice was deep and syrupy and slow. It was the type of drawl you’d expect on a thug, except there was an extra tone to it, something Niall couldn’t pinpoint after such a small sampling.

“Are they—Are they gonna call the cops? Are you gonna get in trouble?”

Harry shrugged as if to say ‘who cares?’ before lifting his shirt to wipe the red off the tooth and his hands. As he did so, Niall caught a glimpse of a pearly white, boyishly muscled tummy that was turning bright pink from so many points of impact.

Niall didn’t know what to say. He had a feeling Harry wasn’t going to give him any clues.

“Will you get home alright?” Niall couldn’t pretend he was deeply invested in whether or not Harry did get home alright, but it was as close as he could get to asking for permission to go home, himself. Of course, Niall realized he’d set himself up for an incredibly awkward situation if Harry said ‘no,’ but, as usual, Harry was unconcerned with Niall’s concerns and said dully, “Yeah. Here.”

When Harry moved toward him, Niall instinctively flinched away, backing into one of the metal pillars and making as if to hide behind it. Something like amusement settled into Harry’s features. He said again, “Come here,” in a way that brooked no argument. Fearing Harry’s wrath if disobeyed, Niall crept forward, barely penetrating the peripheral of Harry’s arm’s reach. Then Harry, fast for his wounds, took hold of Niall’s wrist and jammed something wet and hard in his palm. Niall immediately knew it was the molar. He was so confounded by having hold of it that he nearly missed Harry releasing him and making his way out of the alley.

“Wha—No! Harry, you need this! If you take it to the doctor, they can put it back in! You just have to put it in, in – I dunno – milk or something!” 

Harry scoffed, but he didn’t turn around. He just kept walking until he disappeared from sight, leaving Niall lost under the bleachers, holding a tooth that wasn’t his.


	3. PART THE NEXT PART II (CHAPTER 3)

Usually when Niall attempted to open his eyes in the morning, it was with the ease of someone trying to lift an ancient garage door that had seen many rains and much in the way of rust. This morning, however, he sprang awake a good hour before his alarm went off and tried to temper his excitement with a particularly long shower and over-large breakfast. He was on his bike and pedaling to school before his father had even arisen for work.

The damp chill of the morning air refreshed him further and affirmed his hopes that the day would be going his way. He had been told that the names of the boys accepted onto the team would be posted on the gym doors by the time school opened this morning and Niall envisioned the scene in its entirety: There would no doubt be a crowd surrounding the document that made each player not only a member of the team, but part of the school royalty. Among them would be John, Ed, and Sam, of course. Niall had gotten a pretty distinct impression they had been on the team last year and were assured star positions. But then there would be Louis, smiling down at Niall, the light of affection and acceptance haloing him. He would congratulate Niall and, in Niall’s more extravagant fantasies, he would pull Niall into a full-body, if not somewhat crutch-impeded, embrace which would last a little longer than appropriate for public. 

Absent from Niall’s dream vision was the presence of Liam and his cronies. After what Niall had witnessed last night, Niall wasn’t certain where he could put them in the scene without sullying it in some way. And at the same time, while he was revolted by Liam’s behavior, he was still very much frightened of Harry. Harry and Harry’s stares, Harry’s following him, Harry’s unwanted, pervasive attention on him and Harry’s obvious penchant and affinity for violence. If there was one thing Niall could use more of, it was protection from Harry, and hopefully the alignment of being on the same team as Liam would buy him that. 

When Niall arrived at the bike rack at school, it appeared he was not the only one who was unable to sleep in – two whole bike racks were filled and there were cars in what usually would have been an empty parking lot. He slung his bike to squeeze in the final spot in the rack and duteously went about securing the frame and front wheel with a U-lock when he heard angry voices behind him.

“There’s that little fucker!”

Niall didn’t pay attention because he was not a little fucker, after all. He was struggling to get the U-lock through the spokes when he heard what sounded like a rabble getting closer. 

“Hey, asshole! You! I’m talking to you!”

Niall still didn’t look up. It was difficult to get the lock back on the U before the bike fell over and his hands were a bit stiff from the cold of the morning.

“You little Irish shithead!”

That got his attention. Niall looked up and saw that there was something like an angry mob stampeding down the steps at him, headed by the kid who had worn the AC/DC shirt at the try-outs the night before. He was surrounded by several boys that all looked younger than Niall, but at the back of the pack was Liam, looking at him the way he had been looking at Harry last night under the bleachers.

“Wh-What?” Niall managed to squeeze out. AC/DC was coming at him fast and didn’t look like he was intending to slow any time soon. Niall wanted the cover of a building, or to at least get somewhere a teacher could intervene, but he was knee-deep in a thicket of bicycles and those suckers tended to hang on. He was easy pickings for AC/DC who, upon his arrival, socked Niall in the chest so hard, all the air in his lungs and a soft squeak were ripped out of him. He fell back over some bikes, tearing up his jeans in the gears and hitting the concrete in an ungainly splat.

“Who the fuck do you think you are!? You’re nobody! You’re fucking nobody! I’ve been training for this team the last two years of my life and you fucking come in and take my spot!?” 

Niall was too freaked out to react. He thrashed in the pile of fallen bicycles and tried to jerk his leg free of the gears, but all it got him was a nice position for AC/DC to kick him right in the kidney. Niall had never been kicked in the kidney before, but he had been kicked in the nuts and the two were quite comparable. He flung his arms around himself to protect from another attack, the fetal position being his only defense in this situation.

“Go back to Ireland!” his attacker screamed at him, his voice ragged with distress. “Get the fuck out of here and go back to fucking Ireland!”

Niall felt the thump of another kick land on his ribs, but the aim was askew. When he peered up to see why, he saw Liam pulling the smaller boy away, trying to subdue him. “Carey, back off… Back off, c’mere,” he said to the struggling boy. Carey, for that was his name, had tears on his flushed and crumpled face, but he seemed to deflate in Liam’s arms.

“That little fucker, Li—“

“I know.”

“I’m gonna kill him—“

“No, you’re going home. I’ll take care of this kid.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t a very reassuring conversation for Niall, but he was relieved when he saw Carey give him one last scathing glance before turning and storming into the parking lot. Some of the rabble split and followed him, but Liam stayed rooted, his eyes on Niall, shading him from the newly rising sun.

When he tried to lift himself off of the pavement, Niall found his hands were bloody. He didn’t know if it was from the bikes or from scraping them on the cement, but it would have to be investigated at a later date because now Liam had him by his coat and was lifting him to his feet. When Niall stumbled from having his jeans still caught in the gears, Liam just kicked him hard in the shin, tearing the jeans up to the knee before corralling him back into the wall.

“Carey,” Liam said as Niall scrambled to pry off Liam’s fists, “Is my kid brother. He’s been training every day since he was in 7th grade to get on this team so he could play with me. And I’m a senior. You know what that means? That means this is the only year me and him could’ve played on the same team together. And you! Fucking! Ruined it!” With every exclamation, Liam pounded Niall against the wall as if he was going to breach it with Niall as his battering ram. The wall didn’t move, but Niall was feeling sieged himself.   
Liam let him go then and Niall dropped to the ground since the world was spinning and he didn’t want to fall off. All he saw of Liam was his sneakers when he said, “You know what happens in soccer? A lot of debilitating injuries. Odds are good you’ll get one.”

The sneakers disappeared from Niall’s sight and he was checking to see if he was bleeding from where the back of his head had been slammed into the wall when he heard a metallic crunch that made his heart leap. When he looked up, he saw Liam slamming his foot into Niall’s bike, bending the frame in half. His work done, Liam caught Niall’s eye and smirked darkly.

“Welcome to the team.”


	4. PART THE NEXT PART III

Niall was not of the same mindset going into the school as he had had arriving at school. After Liam had destroyed his bike, Niall had sat next to it for several minutes, processing the stages of grief. His schoolmates had stared at him openly, but Niall was too internally preoccupied to notice. He was conflicted in what to do in this situation. Surely, with a pant leg torn to the knee and bleeding from where the gears had bit into his skin, he should be at liberty to go home and tend his wounds, but his means to do so had already breathed its last. When he finally rose, it was to the gym doors he directed himself. There was no list posted on the doors as promised, but instead remained only four triangles of white where a paper had once been posted and had been subsequently torn down. It didn’t take much searching to find a crumpled up wad tucked under one of the locker bays. 

Niall retrieved and carefully unfolded it. It was the list. On it were names he recognized: Liam, Louis, John, Sam – and of course, his own. He stared at the page for several seconds, his dirty, bloody fingers leaving prints.

“So, did they post it?”

Niall turned and saw Ed standing behind him, gangly and all elbows. He looked as alive with hopeful spirit as Niall had imagined himself to be when he had ridden to school on his sadly-now-deceased bicycle. Although he knew he wouldn’t find it there, Niall looked back at the list for Ed’s name. Then he just sighed.

“Yeah, they did.” He handed the crumpled paper to Ed, “I’m sorry, man.”

Ed took the sheet and perused it several times, each time with dwindling hope that he would see what he wanted. Niall got only a glimpse of Ed’s face crumbling before he hid it with his hand.

“Aw, man,” Ed said, his voice dark but steady. “Aw, man, I don’t—I don’t get it…”

Niall didn’t know what to say, just like he hadn’t known what to say to Carey. Frankly, all Niall wanted to do was get to the facilities and take care of his own hurts. 

“Who got your position?” Niall asked, carefully.

“Jared,” Ed said, maintaining an equanimity that Niall admired greatly.

“Is… Is Jared even that good?” It was a difficult question for Niall to ask since he knew that in the trials, he hadn’t performed well, himself.

“No,” Ed said, going to the door and attempting to use the remaining scraps of tape to return the crumpled paper to its rightful place. “No, he isn’t very good at all, but he hangs with the right crowd.”

“Shit,” Niall muttered under his breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, man, you should be on that list, not me.” 

Ed shrugged, but Niall could see that it was rigid. “Nah, we wouldn’t play the same position. Don’t worry about it, man. Just have fun. You’ll get a lot of tail.”

For his friend’s sake, Niall tried to smile. The smile Ed offered in return was squiggly. “Besides, you’re Irish. You’ll bring them good luck.”

~*~

At the forefront of Niall’s consideration was the possibility of going to the coach and telling him that he would willfully resign his place on the team. He honestly couldn’t think of a less auspicious induction and he wasn’t entirely convinced that Louis wouldn’t side with Liam in his conviction that Niall was a scallywag that needed to go back to Ireland. And, as much as Niall loved football, he didn’t want to have to endure those conditions.

A glance at the clock told him he only had so much time to make a decision before he was in danger of being untimely to his class; his choices were either heading to the gym and making some partially-formed excuse for why he couldn’t be part of the team this year, or going to the privy and tending his wounds. 

Niall wasn’t a fastidious lad by any stretch, but even he understood that wandering about a populated high school while sporting an open, bacteria-attracting wound was an idea from a lesser mind. After all, coach Bartley could wait; infection wouldn’t.

So, he managed to splash some water on his opened shin and wash away the rivulets of blood that were matting the fine, white hair on his leg. He’d even pressed enough bog roll on the wound to get it to stop bleeding. That was as much as he could do to make himself presentable with what little he had in the way of supplies, but he wasn’t three steps into his home room class when a soft voice said, “Oh God, your leg!”

It was the brunette girl Niall liked to pretend didn’t exist. Niall had done such a good job of pretending she didn’t exist that it took him a moment to remember why he’d started the habit in the first place. It was when a hobbled figure appeared next to her, defensively framing her slender, feminine frame that Niall remembered – this was the girl who was probably Louis Tomlinson’s girlfriend. 

“Whoa, buddy,” Louis said, eyeing the tatters of Niall’s jeans, “What the hell happened to you?”

Niall found himself tongue-tied. How could he have forgotten, in the few hours in which he hadn’t been in Louis Tomlinson’s presence, how remarkably handsome he was? Much to his shame, Niall was blushing and stammering before his mind caught up and offered him something bordering on comprehensive.

“I, uh… I got tangled up in my bike.”

“Gnarly,” Louis said and Niall felt a sudden giddiness wash over him at the expression of approval on Louis’ face. “That’s gonna be an awesome scar, man.”

“Did you go to the nurse?” The girl asked, her eyes too bright and caring for how little Niall cared for her.

“No,” Niall said, willfully misrepresenting his resourcelessness for toughness, “It’s just a scratch.”

It was the right track to take. Louis snorted in a boyish guffaw and smacked him on the thigh with one of his crutches. “That’s the spirit!” 

Niall was grinning and flustered, the shame and humiliation of the morning forgotten. He didn’t want this moment to end, knowing he could die happy in the radiance of Louis Tomlinson’s attention and approval. But the general milieu was settling into seats, order was emerging from the chaos and Niall knew he was going to have to go sit in the back where Hannah would squint at him and Harry would stare.

“Well, we’re going to have our first practice in a few days, so heal up!” Louis said, submitting to his girlfriend’s gentle pressure to get him to his seat.

“Look who’s talking!” Niall said, feeling terribly witty and knowing he would be congratulating himself for the quip for some time. It earned him another grin and Niall stored that grin in his heart, ready to smuggle it back to his seat and cherish it when Louis said suddenly, “Oh! Hey! Look out around Liam, alright? He’s gonna be pissed.”

“Niall, go to your seat, please,” Mrs. Jordan interrupted their conversation and Niall complied without complaint. 

The elation of his interaction with the light of his life completely usurped the darkness and dread that the events of the morning had previously enthroned in his heart. He would join this team, that was damn certain and he defied anyone who might pressure him to do otherwise. In fact, Niall was now certain that with Louis’ friendship and endorsement, he could take on a horde of hundreds of Liams and Careys. This buzz was sustained by the fact that both Liam’s and Harry’s chairs remained empty for the entirety of the class and Niall could spend that hour and a half believing he and Louis were the only two people in the universe.

~*~

“So, I have this fantasy,” Niall wrote in his notebook during his unbearably dry science class, “that we’re in a tournament game – regions or whatever Louis said the other day. And Louis and I are on the field—“ In Niall’s mind’s eye, he saw Louis as he’d never seen him before – crutch-free and flitting about the pitch like a lightning bug, but Niall had too little patience to illustrate this point in his writing. “And just as Louis is about to make a shot on goal, some big jerk from the other team smashes into him and jacks up his ankle again.” Niall really, really wanted it to be Liam that was the villain in this story, but that was too much of an exaggeration for even his fantastic mind to get behind. “So, the ref calls the foul and Louis gets a free penalty kick,” Niall was bending the rules of soccer, but for some reason this was more acceptable than the whole villain!Liam thing, because the fantasy just fell apart without it, “but he can’t stand because of the injury and the coach wants me to take the shot for him.” 

Niall looked up at this point, a faint blush on his cheeks. No one was paying attention to him, but he was still shy about writing this next part. 

“But,” he continued writing, “Louis is really sad because he’s so competitive, but he can really only limp a little. And he tells me to just go do it and kill it, but I really don’t want to take Louis’ moment of glory, so…” This was stupid and childish and Niall knew it, but the thought of the scenario made him so euphoric, he couldn’t help but indulge himself. His writing slowed as if the words were coming out in real time, he was visualizing it so clearly. “So, I go over to him and I drape his arm over my shoulder and I help him limp out to midfield. The stadium is packed with people. Maybe Louis doesn’t even know what I’m doing at that point. But then when the ref puts the ball in front of us, he gets it. And I help him,” those words alone made Niall feel like kittens inside, “I help him,” he wrote again because it felt so good, “I dribble the ball for him and we go so slowly because he’s limping and leaning on me but the audience is loving it. And I get him right up to the six yard box and I look at him and he’s looking at me and I can tell he—“ 

Niall stopped again and did another quick surveillance of the class room. Still, no one paid him any heed, even though his pencil was practically doing acrobatics between his fingers and his toes were fluttering like a tap dancer’s. He looked right spastic, but he needed to gather courage to write the next two words:

“Loves me. And I prop him up as he kicks it and it’s a good kick, but it doesn’t go in, but he’s still so happy that I didn’t steal his moment and he’s the MVP anyway and oh my god, he’s so beautiful.” 

Niall lost the thread of the narrative for a moment. He stared into space, biting his bottom lip, reminding himself of every detail of Louis Tomlinson’s beauty. He came very close to tipping himself into a state of arousal quite unfit for third hour science class, so he corralled his wandering thoughts and brought them back to the page.

“And then maybe on the bus home, he would sit with me and fall asleep with his head on my shoulder and I would kiss the top of his head and he would smile and Liam would see that Louis and I were friends and he would apologize for being a dick to me but I would promise that I would teach Carey how to kick like I can when he got on the team next year and maybe there would be a game where they could bring Liam back so they would get a chance to play together.”

It was a run on sentence, but should he ever chose to publish his high school journal for mass consumption, Niall was willing to review it with his editor. He didn’t think it would come to that. 

“And maybe Louis would be too tired to bike home or maybe he locked his keys in his car or something and he had to come home with me or maybe he just wanted to,” his next story beat muddled his mind and made proper storytelling more difficult, “and he’d probably want to shower and I’d wait for him to come out and I’d offer to sleep on the sofa, but he would take my hand and we’d get in bed and I’d kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.” Even Niall’s handwriting went haywire at that last bit. He was breathing hard and curled over his notebook with suspicious concentration so it was surprising to no one when Mr. Priess called on him.

“Niall! What’s the function of a ribosome?”

Right now, Niall was pretty certain the function of a ribosome was to humiliate him in public. At least fifteen pairs of knowing eyes were on him, seeing his flustered state. Somewhere to the left, someone snickered.

“Make protein?” The heroic part of Niall’s brain that was not obsessed with sex managed to come forth and save the day.

“That’ll do. Pay attention.”

Niall sighed and sat back into his seat. He tried to pay attention, truly, but the only thing going through his mind was, “and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.”

~*~

It had been decided between Niall and Zayn in fourth hour history that they would meet at the game parlor on Hinky Street at 6:30. It was important to Niall that he get home and change into an un-shredded pair of jeans and at the very least dab a bit of Neosporin on his wound, even though the gashes had long since stopped bleeding. It was only after he’d been vomited forth with the rest of the student population from the cool interior of the building into the crisp late afternoon air that Niall recalled that his means of transportation was irrevocably crippled. 

One by one, the bikes that had proved a dense thicket in which Niall’s old Schwinn Tour Sport was well hidden were taken away and eventually a clearing was made in which there was nothing but warped metal. Niall took a steadying sigh as the morning came back to him. Reactively, he surveyed the vicinity to ensure that neither Liam nor any of his cronies were lying in wait, prepared to strike. 

Much to his relief, the scan proved the area clear of ill-intending ruffians. The loud uproar of a cheerful crowd that erupted from the stadium reminded him why this was so: the track try outs were currently underway and most of the athletic types were doubling down on their scholarship opportunities. 

Secure in the knowledge that unlocking his bike wouldn’t be half so traumatic as locking it, Niall swiftly went about his work and once the bike was free, struggled to find a comfortable position in which he could carry the mangled apparatus without tripping.

The walk home was going to be long, but not unattractive. There was a field of a yellow kind of grass that didn’t grow in Ireland; grass so tall it nearly reached your hip with a feathery sort of plumage on top. But to get to that sea of weeds that tucked up against the narrow strip of woods, Niall first had to pass the stadium. He wasn’t terribly concerned that he would be spotted, since to anyone on the field he would appear only as a speck in the distance. Still, he quickened his pace and didn’t lift his eyes from the gravel under his feet.

He was nearly past the field and in the clear when he was compelled to lift his eyes. What he saw was Harry, leaning against the fence, watching the field exactly as he had done the night before. It stopped Niall dead in his tracks. There had been no trace of Harry the entire day at school and it seemed terribly odd to Niall for him to appear after classes were out to watch athletic trials in which he had no interest in partaking; especially after the beating he’d taken the evening before for doing this very thing. The long, powerful fingers of Harry’s hands were tangled in the chain link of the fence and seemed fundamental in keeping Harry upright. It was clear from how he gingerly shifted that he was still suffering pains.

Harry hadn’t seen him. But every instinct in Niall’s body told him Harry was looking for him -- the way his eyes seemed to flicker from one player to another, never finding a single target satisfactory enough to keep his attention. It was like having snuck up on a wolf. Niall held his breath, unwilling to pass by him and have Harry at his back. He began to wonder if he was going to spend all night in this unwitting standoff when Harry, assured that what he sought wasn’t present, moved like an ancient, pushing himself off the fence and lumbering painfully down the gravel path, apparently going the same direction Niall was. 

Niall watched for several moments. At one point, Harry folded his hand around his side where Niall imagined a vicious bruise to be. When Harry had put several yards’ distance between them, Niall felt it was safe to follow. The gravel was loud beneath his feet and he feared detection by its sound, so he was mindful to pace his steps to Harry’s. It wasn’t difficult, since the boy was going slowly and tended to drag his feet.

It was hypnotic, keeping pace with a boy who didn’t know he was there, and eventually it felt like an agreement between them – so much so that Niall stopped concerning himself with being discovered and simply enjoyed the dance of it. The path they took lined a narrow two lane road that was rarely traveled and the sky was a flinty gray that austerely bore the silence and stillness of the nascent evening. By the time they reached the grassy field, Niall hadn’t even needed to look at Harry’s feet to keep pace with him and instead, he turned his gaze to that remarkable expanse. The feathery golden tips of the grass were gently buffeted by the shy winds, folding away and against each other like waves in the ocean. Niall was so entranced by the movement, it took him several moments to realize that he was alone in his percussive duet with the boy in front of him. He looked up, momentarily alarmed, until he saw that Harry hadn’t stopped, but merely diverged from the path. Like a returning messiah, Harry stepped into the grasses that stroked against his clothing as he passed, as if by so doing, their sins would be forgiven. He moved without bending a single stalk and the wind toyed with the dark curls on his uncovered head as affectionately as it had done the grass. The scene was filtered with gray – the steely sky offsetting the pale yellow of the grass and Harry, a black latch joining the two together.  
It was a mystery to Niall why Harry would suddenly dive into a field and disappear into a cloudy sunset, when his eyes focused to a further point and he realized that the aberration on the doorstep of the forest wasn’t in fact a jumble of felled trees, but in fact a structure of some sort. It was a shack to be precise, a place that didn’t look fit for human habitation. That was when Hannah’s words returned to him: “He has a shack in the woods where he tortures kittens.”

Niall felt his mouth get wet in the way it did right before he threw up. He hoisted his broken bike higher onto his shoulders and was about to make a run for it when, in his peripheral vision, he noticed Harry had stopped. Harry had stopped in the middle of the field and was looking at him. Niall had to wonder if he cut as equally impressive a figure as Harry did, from Harry’s perspective. He doubted it. In fact, he was quite certain he looked like a rabbit who didn’t know which way to run and was carrying a broken bicycle that would not facilitate a getaway.

But Harry didn’t look hot for the chase. He just stared. Harry always stared. But then he lifted a hand. It wasn’t immediately recognizable as a wave, but Niall didn’t know what else that gesture could possibly be. So he shifted the burden of the bike to his right shoulder and lifted his hand in the same way. That seemed to content Harry, who dropped his hand and with an achy regret, turned away, walking until his tall frame merged and melted with the shadows of the tree line and eventually disappeared.


	5. Part the Next Part IV

Niall was being unfair and he knew it. It wasn’t fair to test his parents on their awareness of him. The proper child would just trust and be grateful for the love and consideration all parents owed their children and not make them prove it by subjecting them to scientific testing. But he did. 

The method was simple: He would stand before first his mother, then his father, and see how long it took them, independently, to notice his jeans were ripped and his leg was torn up. His mother won by a landslide. Her casual comment, “Oh, love, you fall down?” came only seven minutes after initial contact, compared to his father who never noticed at all. Although his mother neither followed up on her question, nor stayed in the same room long enough to get an answer, Niall felt notable relief that his well-being did occupy a corner of her mind, no matter how marginal.

After giving his leg a proper bandage, and finding a pair of shorts that wouldn’t tear his bandage off, he hopped down the stairs, chirped, “Da, gonna borrow your bike!” and didn’t wait around to hear his father tell him to have his bike back by ten.

Niall had expected Hinky Street to look like something out of a Doctor Seuss book and was utterly disappointed to find that it looked like every other American street he had ever seen. The address Zayn had given him brought him to a strip mall at a triangular intersection, proving that Hinky Street did, in fact, bisect the city on a lateral divide. The building itself was a sickly yellow that was ugly even in the era in which it was built, but every company therein was certainly giving it their damnedest to prove their present hipness.

The company in which Niall’s evening was to unfold was called The Dragon Parlor and the sign hanging outside the door gave Niall the impression that he might be getting himself in over his head; it was made of thick wood and was hanging off two heavy, iron chains as if it was a draw-bridge. The letters of the Parlor’s name were the coils of a dragon’s body and, much to Niall’s chagrin, that dragon was a Disney-esq kind of cutesy. Niall had a secret affection for dragons, but it was a strict rule (or, as Niall would describe it, a fact of reality) that dragons must not, under any circumstances, be cute. They were not pets, Niall had asserted only once in the past, they were fierce fire beasts of the sky and were not to be cuddled, babied, given pet names, or made to bear riders. As he opened the door and entered beneath that forsakenly adorable dragon, he reminded himself to keep his yap shut on the subject.

Upon entering, Niall knew that he was out of his welkin. The walls were purple and tattooed with golden Fleurs de Lys the size of a cat. Between these four outlandish walls were rows upon rows of shelves, all displaying both hard-backed or leather bound role playing books and board games whose boxes were so meaty, your run of the mill Monopoly would be ashamed to show its face amongst them. 

There were tables in this place, four by Niall’s count, each of them made of plywood that had been painted like mahogany and with a little lip around the edge like a pool table. Niall would later learn that this lip served the purpose of keeping the dice on the table, but if he was perfectly honest, he would rather just be playing pool. The chairs surrounding these tables looked to be a junk shopper’s attempt at gathering Victorian antiquities, but the effect was more fusty than dignified.

“Niall!” The voice didn’t come from one of the tables, but from the line of kids standing before a coffee bar to the far right of the main floor. It was Zayn, of course, smiling that cheesy grin of his, waving him over with exuberance. He was wearing a yellow tweed jacket that was far too hot for the weather, and seemed to have put in extra effort in defying gravity with his hair. It made Niall want to laugh – not out of unkindness, but because he was so startled by his unexpected styling.

“What, do I look stupid? Did my hair fall down?” Zayn asked after he saw Niall choke back a snort.

“No, no, mate, you look great.”

“Do I? Thanks!”

As Niall got nearer, he was surprised again when Zayn opened his arms for a hug. Niall had heard this about Americans, that they tended to be more physically affectionate and he was glad for the warning. It was not a good hug and Niall was certain Zayn could feel his awkwardness through the squeamish embrace. They parted, both boys embarrassed.

“Can I get you anything?” Zayn asked, gesturing at the coffee bar. Niall truly could’ve gone for a beer, but that was a dear way off.

“Shot of espresso?” 

“Done. How’s the leg?”

“Oh, it’s alright!” Niall kicked his leg out so Zayn could see where he put the bandage on it. 

Zayn nodded. “It’s all around school, you know.”

“What is?”

“Liam. What Liam did to you.”

Niall had not confessed to Zayn what Liam Payne had done to him. Like everyone else who had asked about the state of his leg, he had told Zayn that it was the result of clumsy bike-entanglement. Still, it had been naïve of him to assume such drama would have been over-looked by a gossip-mongering student populace.

Zayn didn’t look terribly disturbed that Niall had obfuscated, and Niall wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up. Instead, he said, “Oh,” and worried his bottom lip. “How did… How did it come out?”

Zayn shrugged and prepared his wallet. “I was in jazz band and Piper Hendry told me that ‘the Irish kid got the shit kicked out of him this morning’ – can I get a chai tea and a double shot? Thanks,” Zayn said to the barista before turning back to Niall, “So I pretended I didn’t know what she was talking about – you know, just to get the story that was going around, and she said it was a soccer hazing. Yeah, here.” Zayn handed the barista a tenner from his wallet that was actually an old Walkman he had modified. Niall would think it was cool if it wasn’t so precious.

“Hazing?” he said, shuffling to the left with Zayn to wait for their drinks to come out at the other end of the bar. “She said it was a hazing?”

“That’s what she said she heard and she heard it from Dean Ross, who heard it from Jess Burkowski, who heard it from Rex Chambers.”

“Who the hell is… any of those people?”

“Rex Chambers is Jared Mayer’s best friend.”

The last time Niall saw Jared Mayer, he had just gotten his ass handed to him by Harry Styles. Not that the punk didn’t well deserve it, but Niall didn’t like recalling all the blood and that gut wrenching sound of bone and flesh colliding with bone and flesh. It made him wince.

“Why… Why are they saying it was a hazing?” Niall asked, graciously receiving from the barista the tiny, porcelain tea cup that had blue and violet roses on the outside and steaming hot espresso on the inside.

“Well, think about it,” Zayn said with all the obnoxiousness of a know-it-all, “If it wasn’t all in good fun, they’d get kicked out of school, wouldn’t they? And it would be harder for the Ivy-League schools their parents attended to pretend that the little fuckers weren’t going to get full rides anyway just by being born to the right people.”

Niall didn’t really follow the intricacies of that last sentence but he was solid on the gist. Zayn’s chai arrived on the platform and after a small but sincere ‘thank you,’ the boys hazarded the wilds of the game parlor.

“Do I have to say it was a hazing, too?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean,” Zayn said, stopping and turning to face him dead-on, “Is is you don’t want to have the reputation of the guy who got the shit kicked out of him in his first week of school. Niall, you’re a jock, now. Do you know what that means?”

Niall blinked at him with eyes of uncomprehending blueness.

“It means you’re practically famous. You’re royalty. You can get away with pretty much anything you want. See any pretty girls at school? You can have ‘em. Don’t want to write a report? Tons of nerds would love to do it for you. You can do whatever you want: so long as you don’t do anything stupid like lose face because Liam fucking Payne smeared you all over the concrete. C’mon, I got us a table over here.”

Against the south wall were a sofa and a game table far smaller than all the others. This table was only the size of a coffee table, but it still had the Game Table Lip™ that clarified its purpose. The sofa was easily the most comfortable looking bit of furniture in the place, what with its soft brown leather and pouty plushness. But Niall didn’t absorb his surroundings since he was still reviewing the information Zayn had imparted to him. He just sat down on the sofa and nursed his espresso.

“What did you say I was now, again?”

“A jock,” Zayn said, pulling a tin box off of the hanging shelf above them and depositing it on the table. The box read ‘Forbidden Island’, but Niall would not be aware of this for yet another fifteen minutes.

“A jock.” Niall tried the word on his own tongue.

“Yeah. Do you not say that in Ireland?”

“No.”

“Oh. Means ‘athlete’. Basically.” As he spoke, Zayn opened the tin and pulled out funny, colored little tiles, which he then began arranging in some unpredictable and arcane design on the table.

“Basically?”

“Basically. There are some good and not-so-good connotations, of course.”

“What are the good ones?” Niall asked, his fingers curled protectively around his little cup like an old lady afraid of spilling.

“Good-looking, athletic, charismatic, sexy, popular, powerful.”

“And… the bad ones?”

“Dumb. Mean. Privileged. Arrogant. Bullies.” 

Zayn stopped laying out the tiles and turned to his friend. The Irishman looked faraway, his lips screwed up in concentration.

“Does that sound like me?”

“Which one?”

“All of them?”

“Some of them.”

“Which ones?”

“The good ones.”

Niall smiled at Zayn and Zayn smiled back. Then, Zayn went about quietly setting up the rest of the game while Niall considered further.

“It sounds like a lot of responsibility,” Niall said, “And I still don’t get what it all means.”

“Well, one thing it means,” Zayn said, pushing his thick-framed glasses up higher on his nose, “Is this is probably the only night I’ll ever get to have with you.” When he heard the words come out of his mouth, he immediately scoffed and smacked himself lightly on the forehead. “That didn’t sound that dirty in my mind. Sorry.”

Niall wasn’t about to say it curled his toes a little bit, but it did. “Um… What?”

“Just that you’re going to get new friends and I probably won’t be one of them.”

“Why?”

“Jocks don’t hang out with hipsters.”

“Why?”

“Something about social dynamics. It would bring you down on the social ladder.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how school politics work.”

“Why?”

“Because kids are shallow and unkind.” 

“Why?”

“Because they’re insecure and powerless!”

“Why?”

“Because they’re young!”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the will of the universe!”

“Why?”

Zayn didn’t bite. He just stared at Niall through those thick-framed Buddy Holly glasses of his and let the silence reign. After a full minute had passed, neither of them being the first to shoot, Niall leaned in very slowly, and in an elongated whisper asked, “Wwwwhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyy?”

Immediately, Zayn burst out laughing and grappled Niall into a lazy half-nelson, rumpling Niall’s hair and making a right mess of it. Niall didn’t fight him off too hard, because he had a tiny porcelain cup of espresso to maintain. They were still snickering softly at each other, too close and still entangled, when Niall felt something start to hatch from a secret incubator within.

“I’ll still be your friend, Zayn,” Niall said, not knowing if it was a promise he could keep, but truly meaning it in that moment.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Zayn was smiling a capricious little grin that shattered all his artifice of sophistication and Niall could clearly see the boy he was behind the hipster.

“It’s so cool you’re… here,” Zayn said, and Niall had no idea what he meant, but knew the meaning exceeded the words.

“Yeah,” Niall agreed, tossing back the last of his espresso and gently depositing the delicate cup on the side table. “So. You going to teach me how to play this game, or what?”

~*~  
The bike was not in the garage by ten sharp, but Niall knew he wasn’t going to hear anything about skidding in at ten-thirty. He was careless about turning the key in the lock, knowing his parents tended to go to bed closer to midnight and he wasn’t surprised when, upon entering the house, he heard the yammer of the telly in the living room.  
After tossing his jacket on the coat hanger in the entryway, Niall was prepared to head straight to his room and hop into his jimjams, but was accosted by the sound of an Irish voice rising above the American television static.

“That you, son?”

It was his father and Niall wandered into the living room to answer the call. “Yeah?” he asked, apprehensive by the anomaly of his father actually seeking his company. Bobby Horan looked as though he had fallen asleep in the blue recliner in front of the telly and was only now rousing himself back into awareness.

“I remember,” Bobby took his glasses off his face, rubbed at his eyes and tried again, “I remember you saying something about football try outs.”

“Oh,” Niall said, shifting on the landing, wishing there wasn’t so much noise in the room, “Yeah. Those were last night.”

“Oh? How did it go?”

“Well, I—Good, I guess. I got on the team.”

Mr. Horan repositioned his glasses on his face and shifted in his chair to peer at his son in a way that suggested he was further away than he actually was. Then he found the remote on the arm of his recliner and mercifully turned off the television. The resulting silence was cool and refreshing.

“Good,” Mr. Horan said solidly, then sustained a pregnant pause before smiling at his son and saying again, “Well done. Well done, son.”

“Thanks,” Niall said, lifting himself high up on his toes. He could tell he was blushing and he didn’t know why. He suddenly didn’t know what to do, whether to stay and hope for more praise, or to retreat to the solace of his bedroom. He decided to make the safest bet. “Um… Goodnight!”

He was halfway to the stairs and dreaming of dreaming, when his father’s voice stopped him again.

“Hey, Niall?” 

Niall scampered back, peeking into the living room.

“Yeah?”

“What happened to your leg?”


	6. Part the Next Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic just got steamy!!

PART THE NEXT PART V

Niall had no idea if he could ever broach the issue of his bike with his parents. Lying was not Niall’s strong suit but he couldn’t bear the thought of confessing that he had stood idly by while another boy in his year mangled it in front of him. Greg would never have let such a thing happen. But, of course, no one would ever want to harm Greg, anyway, because Greg was charming, friendly, confident and generally loved by all of God’s creatures.

So, Niall had hidden his broken bicycle behind the two huge bins for trash and recycling in the garage and hitched a ride to school with Zayn the next day. Zayn was more than willing to oblige because that meant he got to show off his zippy little orange 1976 Firebird. Apparently, as Niall learned on the ride to school this particular Thursday morning, Zayn’s father spent his free time repairing vintage automobiles. The only reason he let Zayn use the Firebird, and it was deeply impressed upon Niall that to be allowed to drive a 1976 Firebird was a privilege, indeed, was because his father’s first true love was a 1952 cherry red Jaguar XK 120. Niall didn’t know what that was, but did his best to seem impressed when he learned Zayn would be inheriting it.

After they had parked in the school parking lot and made their way up the front steps, what they first became aware of was that Liam and his crew had congregated around the memorial planter directly in front of the entryway. Niall stopped dead in his tracks and Zayn with him. There were enough students in the thoroughfare that the two boys were camouflaged in the traffic, but at the sight of the Payne brothers lounging like lions under a savannah tree made Niall’s insides turn to cold jelly. 

“You ok?” Zayn asked.

Niall had lost a bit of sensation in his extremities, but he wasn’t about to say that. “They wouldn’t… They wouldn’t attack me again, would they? Not in front of everyone--?”

“Probably not.” There was a surety in Zayn’s voice that emboldened Niall’s heart.

“Yeah, probably not, huh? Not if they’re trying to pretend they’re nice guys.”

“And even if they start anything, I’ll back you up.” That did less for Niall’s confidence.

“I’ll have to face them some time. Practice starts next week.”

“Come on, then,” Zayn said, propelling him forward by the elbow, and merging back into the current. Niall could feel his heart pounding as they neared and even though he tried to remind himself it was ridiculous to be as frightened as he was, this knowledge did nothing to diminish his physiological reaction.

“What do I do? Do I pretend I don’t see them? Do I say hi like nothing happened?” Niall asked, his voice wired at a high pitch.

“Just talk to me. Surely there’s something we can talk about.”

“Uh… I can’t think of anything.” 

“Neither can I.”

“Just tell me what your classes are, in order.”

“Uh, okay. I have first hour AP English, second hour Advanced Calculus, third hour Phys Ed, fourth hour History, with you…”

And they were past. Utterly avoiding detection, they had gotten into the building and Niall’s adrenal glands began to ease off of flooding his system.

“Oh, for Christ's sake, is it going to be like this every day?” Niall asked, feeling far too hot for his thin, fleece jumper. 

“Probably not, they’ll probably get over it and then you’ll—“

“TOP O’ THE MORNIN’!” A hand came down on Niall’s shoulder that was so heavy and demanding, Niall felt half forced to the floor. It was Max, grinning at him sharkily, his buzzcut giving his head the impression of being all face.

“Hi,” Niall said, for lack of a better word as he tried to regain control of his person. But Max had a great grip on his shoulder and gave him what would’ve appeared like a friendly jostle to the casual observer, but had Niall wincing internally.

“Really looking forward to practice starting next week. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Niall said, locked into one spot by that hand that was better suited to a forty year old man who’d spent his life battling the seas on the brig of a whaler.

“Gosh! Me too! Stay alive till then--” Max said, then used his hold on Niall to reel him in so he could hiss in his ear, “--so we can kill you on the field!” And then he was gone, oppressive grip and all.

Niall took a moment. “Zayn?”

“Yes.”

“Did I piss myself?”

A moment while Zayn checked.

“No.”

“Well, that’s something.”

~*~

Niall got to his first period class with no further incident. Hannah was waiting for him near the back with her eyebrows up to her glossy hair line. She was sitting up straight as a rocket in her seat and looked primed for launch. It was both adorable and the dorkiest thing Niall had ever seen; it made him smile.

“Morning,” he said, slinging his book bag into the basket under his seat before flopping back into the cracked plastic chair.

“Is it true,” Hannah said, foregoing niceties, “That you rode to school with Zayn Malik this morning?”

Niall grew suddenly concerned. America began to feel full of traps that an unwitting Irishman could easily fall into. Apparently, becoming a soccer player meant an entire change in lifestyle, which meant that ‘riding to school’ with someone could have a whole canon of societal meaning that Niall was unaware of.

“I – Why? What did I do? So what if I did?”

Hannah was reasonably baffled by this reply. “Well – You’re friends with him, right?”

“Yes.” Niall knew the answer to that one, it had been established last night.

“Oh, that’s so cool! Zayn Malik is the coolest boy in school! My mom knows his dad.” There was a summer pinkness about her cheeks. “We were on the debate team together two years ago and he’s really nice. He’s really, really nice.”

“You fancy him?”

“What?”

“You… You like him?”

The girl blushed so hard her eyes were nearly watering. Niall took this as evidence that all ‘riding to school’ meant was that Hannah thought she might have an in with the boy she’d been sweet on for two years.

“Well, I mean, as a friend, yeah, of course.” Hannah was fooling no one, but Niall just smiled and knew that if he pushed further her head might literally explode.

“Maybe you could come with us to the game parlor some time,” Niall said, curious to see if he could at least get her to levitate.

She did a little bit, even if just by lifting herself up in her seat, “Oh, that would be—That would be so—“

Niall never got to learn what it would so be, because he heard a voice that made all other voices turn to silence in Niall’s head and it said, “Hey, Niall!”

Louis had managed to sneak in while Niall was distracted. His captain was reclined as leisurely as a king in his rickety old plastic seat from the 70’s and was patting the rickety old plastic seat across the aisle from him to draw Niall’s attention to it.

“You’re on the team, now, man, sit here with us!”

Niall had never moved so fast in his life. He reached under his seat to get his book bag, but one of the clasps had gotten tangled in the wire basket and he had to tug and jiggle at the thing to get it free. That delay was at a dear expense: he’d only just managed to shift his weight to his feet and was about to launch himself into the empty seat across from Louis when Liam Payne arrived and, seeing Niall’s intention, slammed his heavy books on top of the unclaimed desk, thereby claiming it and shutting Niall forever out of a sitting-next-to-Louis-Tomlinson-type destiny.

“Hey, man, where were you yesterday?” Louis asked, his recent offer to Niall completely forgotten. 

“Family stuff,” Liam replied, catching Niall’s eye long enough to send him the very distinct glare of an animal protecting its territory. In fact, the only person in that elite front row that seemed to have any manners at all was the brunette girl who was in the seat behind Louis and whose fingers were entangled with his. When Niall noticed her round, perfect face turned toward him, she shrugged bashfully and grimaced as if to say, ‘I’m so sorry. My boyfriend was raised by troglodytes.’ 

Defeated, Niall just sat back into his seat as quietly as possible, hoping no one witnessed the exchange. It was still before the bell rang and the class was in a jumble, so it wasn’t the spectacle Niall imagined it was in his mind. One person certainly noticed, though: Beside him, Hannah had slumped, her cheeks had paled and she was in absolutely in no danger of either levitating or exploding.

His conversation with Zayn the night before came back to him and Niall suddenly felt like a scoundrel. He racked his memory for some topic of conversation that would bring her back to life, but the best he could come up with was, “So, how does your mom know Zayn’s dad?”

Hannah was in what looked like an agonizing process of lifting her head when the teacher crushed any potential reconciliation by saying, “To those of you who actually did turn in your homework, good job. As for the rest of you—“

But Niall wasn’t interested in how well he did or didn’t on his homework. His gaffe and rudeness was chewing at him and all he wanted was to have a brief exchange with Hannah – just a couple words or so – that would let him know things were alright between them. He got his wish about a quarter through the period, when the door opened and Harry entered.

Mrs. Jordan was at the board, well into her way explaining all the glands involved in the endocrine system and she only noticed the new addition to her class when the door slammed shut. Then she stopped mid-sentence and glared as Harry carted his lanky frame all the way down the aisle. It was only after he’d slunk silently into his seat that the woman said, “Styles, you know you’re on thin ice already.”

Harry just nodded indifferently as if she was reminding him to mind the gap and unfurled his long legs so the girl in front of him was in danger of tripping over his foot when she stood up. After a dissatisfied grumble, Mrs. Jordan started teaching again, but Hannah turned to Niall and whispered, “I swear, you’re the only reason he even comes to school anymore.”

“What?”

Hannah rolled her eyes and pointed at Harry behind the cover of her own shoulder. Niall tried to sneak a glance, but there was no sneaking when it came to Harry, who watched his every move. They made eye contact and Niall turned around, wincing.

“See?” Hannah said, as if she had just proved her point. Then she rolled her eyes again, so hard that it looked like it hurt, and went back to her book. “Boys,” she muttered disparagingly under her breath.

~*~

The rest of the day passed in a relatively predictable way. His first week of school nearly finished and Niall felt like he was getting into the routine of things. He’d even started crafting a bit of a social map in his mind – who he would sit next to in class, which classes he had with Louis (and, for safety, Harry), who he could sit next to at lunch, and how to pass through the library so he could say hi to Zayn after sixth period.

He was still getting many congratulations for his new position on the football team, particularly from Coach Bartly and Sam, with whom he had sixth hour Phys Ed and John, who was in his eighth hour English class. And it was as they were released from that eighth hour English class that John threw an arm around Niall’s neck and tucked him in close.  
“Party at Natalie Plympton’s Saturday night. You gotta come,” John said, using his superior musculature to navigate Niall through the halls by the head.

“Natalie Plympton?” Niall asked, his voice smashed from his face being stuffed in an armpit. “I have no idea who she is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” John said, deftly maneuvering Niall so he didn’t lose a hip on the drinking fountain, “The whole team’ll be there; it’ll be a good chance for you to get to know everyone.” As they were carried downstream, someone in the upstream current smacked Niall on his available ass as he passed – to this day, Niall had no idea who that was.

“The whole team?” Niall asked as John finally pulled up to his locker and let him go. In his new found freedom, he saw that Sam and Ed had joined them, both smiling at the monkeying around.

“Yeah! Everyone!”

“Are you guys talking about Natalie’s?” Ed asked. Sam and Niall both went a little quiet, but John just opened his locker, took out his books and said, “Yeah.” When Ed’s face fell and he nodded like an irritated old horse, John just stared him down and said, “Don’t be like that, Ed. We all want you there. You’re still one of our best friends.”

To his credit, Ed tried to bolster himself. “Yeah, no, you’re right. I just don’t want to make anyone else feel weird.”

“No one’s gonna feel weird. Not when I’m around,” John said soundly and Niall had the very cuddly sensation that he was right.

“Is that girl going to be there?” Niall asked, “The one that’s always hanging around Louis?”

“Eleanor?” Sam asked, his dark brow furrowing at Niall. “Well, yeah, she’s his girlfriend; why wouldn’t she be?”

The reason he asked was because he was very much hoping for a negative response, but that wasn’t how high school boys interpreted such an inquiry.

“Aw, shit!” John crowed, “Irish has a crush on the captain’s girl!”

The two other boys sparked onto it, cawing in delight and jostling Niall around as they made their way out of the school.

“Don’t worry, we won’t tell him—“

“—but, seriously, if you’re gonna go for it, you gotta do it while he’s still on crutches—“

“—You could totally take him while he’s on crutches—“

“—Yeah, but no, go for it after the season’s over, cause if you kill each other, they’ll have to put Ed and Carey on the team and then we’ll just get our asses—“

But Sam didn’t get to finish his sentence, because Ed, pretending to be furious, jumped on his head and immediately started throwing stage punches, with Sam responded to with stage pratfalls. Niall joined in to break it up, but when he saw a slow-motion punch headed his way and knew he was going to take it in the jaw. So when Ed smacked his fist into his hand, Niall threw his head back and went flying into the wall, before crumpling into a pile on the floor with a zombie-like death groan. In the distance, he heard John crying, “You bastard, that’s my new little buddy! Prepare to die!” before he heard a few more naps and when he opened his eyes, John was splayed out on the tile of the school floor with the rest of them. Only Ed was left standing, basking in all the glory a man can accumulate from defeating three friends in a mock fight, and took a bow.

After they’d all dusted themselves off and gotten on to the front steps of the building, Ed commented that the cafeteria stroganoff was a biological weapon, Niall said the science room smelled like it had a natural gas leak and Sam said Emily James was developing nicely. The four boys agreed that all of these things were facts and that they would see each other tomorrow.

When Niall was finally alone, Zayn appeared. He had apparently been lurking in the cool of the memorial planter, waiting to strike.

“So, were those good jocks or bad jocks?” he asked, readjusting his leather messenger bag on his shoulder. Only Zayn, Niall thought, would be so trendy as to have a leather messenger bag as a backpack.

“Good,” Niall smiled at him. “Those guys I like a lot.”

“Jocks are jocks,” Zayn shrugged, “They’re still meatheads.”

That triggered something in Niall and he was about to make a rather pointed rebuttal when Zayn continued, “Anyway, I figured you might need a ride home.”

Niall was still a bit prickly, but he really wanted a ride home. 

“It wouldn’t be out of your way?” he asked, cringing at how he let Zayn’s slight go unanswered, but he didn’t want to walk past the field or Harry’s spooky shack in the woods.

“Not a problem,” Zayn said, pulling his keys from his pocket and leading Niall into the parking lot. “You doing anything fun this weekend? Any parties or anything?”

Niall gave him a sidelong glance and considered for a moment. 

“No.”

~*~

By the time Niall got home, he knew what he was going to prepare for dinner. He had roasted an entire chicken a few days before and had saved the carcass so he could make what he considered his signature chicken soup.

Niall had not always been the type of kid to make chicken soup from scratch. For the majority of his life, he had been the kind of boy to come home, turn on the telly, and zone out until his mother called him and his brother into the dining room where they would say grace and then chow down so quickly, he couldn’t have told you exactly what it was that he had eaten. But it just so happened that with Greg’s departure from the home, Maura Horan was no longer interested in the nightly ritual of putting together a well-rounded meal and reviewing her day with her loved ones while they ate it. In fact, after Greg left, it became pretty apparent to Niall that if he didn’t feed himself, no one would.

He was too proud to complain. He was seventeen after all, a full-grown man, and he could take care of himself. So, approximately a year ago, Niall had pulled out one of his mother’s cookbooks, deciphered the mysterious code within, and learned that what he could do with food was not only edible, but sometimes damn good. His chicken noodle soup was damn good.

It was a little under an hour later that Niall was trucking up the stairs, barefoot, with a bowl of soup in one hand and a biology book in the other. Boxes still lined the walls of his room, but he had established a pretty cozy corner with his desk in which he could study and watch porn on his computer with relative privacy.

As he sat down in that secluded nook, he reminded himself that the plan was to finish the two pages of science homework that he had to complete, read the next chapter of Catcher in the Rye, maybe flicker through a few pages of the web, and then get to bed at a reasonable hour. That wasn’t what happened, though. What happened was that Niall sat down, inhaled half his soup, then opened up his computer and immediately checked his Facebook.

Checking Facebook was the last thing a person should ever do if he ever wished to accomplish anything; Niall knew this, but he did it anyway. What he saw there blasted all thoughts of homework from his head as surely as if they had been targeted by DARPA: There was a friend request from Louis Tomlinson. Louis’ profile picture was an aerial view of Eleanor and him sitting cross-legged together in the middle of a merry-go-round. Their faces were child-like and merry. 

Not only was there a friend request, but a private message that read, “Hey! Excited to have you on the team your really going to like it. We should hang some time. Did you do that French homework? See you tomorrow.”

Niall was so excited, he shot up from his chair and nearly spilled his damn good chicken soup all over himself.

“Jesus Christ!” he said aloud, shoving his hands into his hair as if his mind was literally blown and he had to keep his skull together. To any boy with a lick of perspective, it wasn’t all that inconceivable that the captain of the football team he’d just joined would reach out to him on a social network – after all, John, Sam, Hannah, Ed, Zayn and a couple other kids from school who had less of a reason to connect with him had done so – but to Niall, it was filled with far more potential and meaning. 

Fingers shaking unsteadily over the keys, Niall accepted the friend request. That much was easy. What was harder was the momentous task of composing a return communique. He banged out a first draft: “I’m so excited to be on the team, too! I can’t wait for practice to start! Everyone seems so cool! Finished the French homework yesterday if you want to have a look at it. We should totally hang out, I’m free pretty much all next week. My number is 303-655-8030. See you tomorrow!!”

Before he even finished typing it, he knew it was the stupidest private message in the history of electronic correspondence. What an embarrassing amount of exclamation points and by God, it just stank of desperation. He tried again: “Yeah, it’ll be fun. Catch you around.”

The other side of the spectrum was even worse, and Niall deleted that, too. Part of him considered it might be best if he didn’t reply via Facebook at all and just brought it up at school tomorrow morning. But, Niall knew, his feet would get even colder if it meant having to compose sentences in his head and speak them comprehensively all while staring at Louis Tomlinson’s beautiful face. No, this was far better.

Giving more attention to these few lines than he ever did to any scholarly essay, Niall constructed the following: “Hey! Nice to hear from you. Yeah, I’m really looking forward to playing with you guys, I think it’ll be a good year. You going to Natalie Plympton’s on Saturday? Maybe you could show me around. French m’emmerde, let me know if you need help with it. See you tomorrow!”

And this was after numerous revisions. He dropped his head on his desk. He knew there was something wrong with this, too, but he couldn’t figure out what it was – something with the French sentence, he knew. The truth was, French did not ‘annoy the shit out of him’. In fact, he had taken French for several years in Ireland and he was pretty good at it, but Niall was under the pretty distinct impression it was not cool to enjoy French, especially in the jock circle.

There was no winning this. Niall read over the message a few more times and then, anxious as an astronaut on his first outing, hit the ‘send’ button.

There was a good minute of unclenching and deep breathing before Niall was able to shake himself out of it and get back to serious business. And that serious business was a thorough and pervasive stalking of Louis Tomlinson’s Facebook page.

Without hesitation, he dove in first for the photographs. Louis’ friend request had unwittingly unlocked a treasure trove of Niall-specific porn. He eagerly scrolled through all of Louis’ profile pictures and couldn’t resist creating a password-protected folder on his computer where he would download the ones that really made his heart beat fast.

A good half an hour had passed in which Niall’s cheeks steadily got rosier and rosier and his pants got tighter and tighter, when he finally came upon a photograph folder of Louis’ that contained all the happy snaps of a family vacation he’d spent in Hawaii. And it seemed that for this vacation, Louis Tomlinson had packed only one item of swimwear: a black pair of briefs that hugged his precious little butt and accentuated the cut of his hips and the sinews of his thighs. There was one picture in particular of Louis stretched out in the sun atop a cushioned lounger, the fingers of one hand curling against his toned belly button and the other flung in luxurious abandon up over his head. He was smiling the lazy, happy smile of someone truly relaxed and Niall couldn’t take it anymore.

With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his door was closed, Niall deftly unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them down to his knees. His cock sprung out, thick and pink and Niall took it in his fist with one hand while he maximized the photo with the other.

Niall’s mind had no difficulty whatsoever in extrapolating a reality in which he and Louis were on that beach together, in which Louis was smiling like that just for Niall, as he waited for his boyfriend to join him. It was so real in Niall’s mind, he could even smell the sunscreen, feel the sand beneath his toes, hear Louis’ soft voice as he said, “Come here, I need you,” or something equally toe-curling.

And Niall would be there in an instant, on top of him, feeling the heat of Louis’ skin from where the sun had licked all over him. Niall tried not to dwell on the fact that unless he was slicked from head to toe in SPF 45, being under that same sun as Louis would turn him a recklessly unattractive piglet pink – but this was Niall’s fantasy, and in it, the sun was merciful.

And how easily would Louis’ legs part to let him between them. And how gracefully would he lift his hips to let Niall pull down those skimpy shorts and reveal what the sun hadn’t kissed yet, but Niall would be kissing soon.

Suddenly, there were footsteps in the hall and, reacting instinctively, Niall slammed the lid of his laptop down and tucked his lower half safely under his desk. He stayed huddled like that until he heard his father’s voice cry out, “Maura? Did we unpack the printer yet?”

“It’s in your study! Unpacked it yesterday, but you’ll have to find the cables!”

The head of household then grumbled something unintelligible and Niall heard the footsteps going back from whence they came. Niall let out a huge sigh of relief, then, shyly as if the real Louis Tomlinson might feel Niall’s eyes cascading over his near-nude, pixilated form, he lifted the lid of his laptop again, and let his fantasy fill his vision.

Where was he again? Surely they were both naked, pressed hungrily against one another, curling their hips together. Surely they were sharing steamy, promising kisses and stroking fingertips over sweat-slicked skin. Niall could taste the sea on Louis’ lips, hear the soft moans he would expertly coax out of him and feel the heat of their throbbing cocks sliding together.

“Niall,” Louis would plead softly and Niall would know exactly what it meant, and he would kiss and lick and suck his way down that perfect torso, past the small dusky nipples, and to that perfect belly button that Louis was nearly fingering in the picture. Unable to resist, Niall touched his fingerprints to his computer screen while his other hand worked furiously below the desk.

From the image on the screen, one could build a lovely idea of what Louis’ cock looked like. Not over-large, but beautifully shaped, like Niall’s. He imagined the glistening rosy head and visualized taking it in his mouth. His tongue curled against his palate in an estimate of what it might feel like and he let out a soft sound which he immediately tried to choke back as soon as it hit the air.

He was getting close. The thought of bobbing up and down on Louis’ cock while the other boy massaged his head and stroked his ears, making soft, needy, helpless noises, begging for what only Niall could give him, was swiftly bringing him to his peak. And then – oh, glorious then – Niall imagined what would happen if he cradled one of the adorable globes of Louis’ ass in his hand and let his fingers slip deep, deep, deeper between them until they stroked across the tight pucker of Louis’ hole. Even the reminder that Louis had a darling little anus tucked between those pert, magnificent buttcheeks would’ve been enough to set Niall off and he came like a geyser, hitting the neckline of his own shirt, which would have impressed him if he had any presence of mind to be aware of it.

He felt like he’d run a marathon and got a whack on the back of the head at the finish line. He was seeing stars whether his eyes were opened or closed and he thought he’d never catch his breath again.

If Niall was ever going to get intimate with Louis Tomlinson, he thought to himself when he had two brain cells to rub together, he’d have to do better than this. Just as vividly as he could imagine the sexy scenario, he could imagine the embarrassment he’d feel if he came all over himself after only sucking Louis’ cock for a half a minute. He was a bloody amateur and it was obvious.

Not that he would be getting anywhere near Louis’ cock, Niall had to remind himself as he looked down and surveyed the damage to his clothing. The boy was clearly straight, taken, and would probably be spooked all to hell if he knew that one of his classmates was having ferocious wank-off sessions over his pictures.

With a stabilizing sigh, Niall slipped his shirt over his head and threw it into the laundry basket. Unlike other boys his age, he never had to worry about his mother coming across something questionable in the wash, because – like cooking – his mother had deferred all laundry responsibilities to her son as well. While he did have the maturity to understand that these duties were valuable life lessons that he could easily shoulder on his own, Niall couldn’t help but feel like a boarder in his own house at times.

Freshly attired in his jimjams, Niall returned to his computer and demurely, even a little apologetically, closed out of Louis’ Facebook page. That was something to be further explored at a later date, when he didn’t have the niggling sensation of shame haunting him in the back of his mind. He tried to turn his attention to the pressing matters of biology and J.D. Salinger, but photosynthesis lacked sex appeal and The Catcher in the Rye, to use its own vernacular, was corny. His discipline lasted for the better part of an hour, but with a rapid half-life. His unremarkable evening came to a close after watching some tv shows on his computer until his eyelids were too heavy to keep aloft, at which point he delicately put the machine to the side, rolled over and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, shit gets real. 
> 
> I love to hear from you all -- looks like this fic is going to be quite a mountain to climb and your comments and kudos are like St. Bernards with whiskey. I'm GameShowVictim on LJ and GVButterworth on tumblr.


	7. Part the Next Part VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get real, now. 
> 
> I would love to hear from you all. Leave your thoughts in the comments, I'm especially interested in your reactions for this chapter (and the next one, in which more shit will go down)!

Niall woke the next morning, alive with the vim of a promising day. No hardship overtaxed his awareness and he was thrumming with anticipation of seeing Louis in school, now that they were newly-minted Facebook friends. A night’s sleep had washed from his mind any apprehension he may have had about his reply to Louis and had instilled in him the optimism that Fate was primed to do him a good turn.

He was in the kitchen with time enough to make himself a hearty breakfast and even to watch a few cartoons before Zayn showed up in that ludicrous car of his. This levity of Niall’s was too potent to not be highly infections and one look at his face burned away the cloud of Zayn’s grumpiness and even made him chortle softly when he said, “Morning, sunshine!”

“Hi!” Niall chirped, throwing an arm out to give his companion a fumbling hug – he was swiftly acclimating to this Americanism, even though Zayn said, “Whoa, awkward car hug,” and had difficulty hugging him back, what with the seatbelt and all. “Did you get laid last night or something?”

Thank God Niall was flushed from his spirited sprint to the car or his blush would’ve told the tale. “Nah, just happy.”

“Happy to see me?” Zayn flirted with intentional pushiness. In reply, Niall kissed his fingertips and lightly smacked Zayn on the cheek.

“Alright, alright,” Zayn conceded, pulling back into the street. “Ready for the weekend?”

But Niall had a more interesting topic loaded and ready to fire, “You know Hannah Corsen?”

Zayn took his eyes off the road for an instant to take his measure. “Uh, yeah. We’ve been in school together since we were little kids. Why?”

“No reason,” Niall shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “She just mentioned her mom knew your dad.”

That squeezed a groan out of the other boy. “She always… I don’t know what it is, she says that to everyone, as if it’s going to suddenly make us related or something.”

Niall’s eyebrows went up and he suppressed a scoff, “I don’t think she wants to be related to you, mate. At least not by blood.”

“Huh?”

“I think she fancies you.”

“Oh, gross!” was Zayn’s immediate reaction, his face tucking up into a derisive sniff.

“Zayn! Jesus Christ!” If Zayn hadn’t been driving, he would’ve gotten a healthy, Irish sock in the arm.

“What?” Zayn retorted. “Oh, come on, man, I know she’s your friend and all, but seriously. You’ve seen her – Don’t tell me you’d get in bed with that!”

“Her. She’s a person, for Christ’s sake! And she’s alright!”

Zayn gave him the stalest, crustiest look Niall had ever seen on that handsome face. “You’re not going to pressure me into dating her, are you? Because that is not ever, in a million fucking—“

“No,” Niall interrupted defensively, as if the idea hadn’t crossed his mind several times already. “I really just brought it up because she started to say something about how her mom—“

“—knows my dad. Yeah, yeah, yeah. They work together at an addiction center. Twelve step programs, AZT, that sort of thing. Her family’s weird.”

The passing scenery caught Niall’s eye – it was the sea of gold, the field of gentle grass that blanketed several acres against the woods. The stalks were still today, with neither wind, nor lanky, scrappy high school boys to disturb them.

“Oh, yeah?” Niall asked, his thoughts returning to the conversation in the car. “How so?”

“Nothing too spooky, they just do stuff like call the house way too late or borrow your Tupperware, then pretend like they don’t know what you’re talking about when you ask for it back. I swear, we’ve lost more Tupperware…”

“Wouldn’t have pegged her for a Tupperware thief.”

“Yeah,” Zayn sighed, chewing his lip thoughtfully. Then, as if the idea just occurred to him, he piped up, “So, doing anything this weekend?”

~*~

Niall’s good mood had in no way deteriorated by the time they arrived at school. It was bolstered along by the fact that Liam and his crew were nowhere to be seen during the entirety of their walk from the parking lot, all the way to Niall’s locker. That’s where he and Zayn parted ways, promising to catch up in social studies.

As part of his morning routine, Niall was unloading all of the text books he wasn’t going to use until later in the day into his locker and it was while he was struggling to wrench his biology book free from his bag that he felt two fluffy baubles buffet against his sleeve; he looked to his left and there was Hannah wearing a knit jumper with a clown on it (the baubles were the clown’s balloons), her eyes as attentive and consuming as a meerkat scanning the horizon.

“So, do you ride to school with him every day?” she asked, her subtle lisp becoming more pronounced in her excitement. Niall had to wonder if he was being stalked and with Hannah’s propensity for meerkat-ness, he didn’t think spying would be too difficult for her.

“How do you even—“

“Oh, like Zayn’s hard to find in that car of his. Besides, he cuts my bus off, like, every morning.”

“I’ll tell him to drive better.”

“Oh, I don’t mind! Please don’t tell him that I mentioned that I know that he—“

She was cut off by an act of violence so sudden and unexpected that it took Niall’s brain a moment to realize what had happened. With great force and prejudice, Hannah had been slammed into her locker and somewhere, already moving away from them, a deep voice grumbled, “Keep your fucking mouth shut!”

Her head had slammed into the metal so hard her eyes visibly boggled and the wire frame of her glasses had bent. There was an instant in which Hannah was too shocked to move, but Niall’s adrenaline kicked in almost immediately and without thinking, he lunged at the person who had done it, shouting, “Hey!” and shoving hard into the retreating back. It wasn’t until the act had been committed and he had sent his victim stumbling forward a few paces that he realized it was Harry.

All Niall could do was stare as the school bully rounded on him, pinning him with eyes that showed the depth and intensity of what lived behind them. Around his chin and jaw, Harry’s skin was mottled and dark and the side of his mouth was swollen and purple. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but Niall was in no position to be sympathetic.

The hall went silent and, as if the students of Jefferson Valley High had seen this before, all present hugged the walls to be clear of the coming storm.

“What!” Harry barked, encroaching with palpable menace on Niall, who had no answer for him and was in acute danger of his knees giving out. The other boy seemed only further incensed by Niall’s silence and Harry roared again, “What!” at a volume Niall would never have expected from the near-mute boy. But Niall didn’t have long to wonder at it, for Harry pushed him hard in the chest with force enough to send Niall sprawling back on the hard tile floor. Splayed, prone and helpless, Niall could hear the other students in the hall practically braying for blood. He tried to scramble backwards, make room to get to his feet, but there was no outrunning Harry and his long legs. The larger boy was nearly standing on him and Niall, along a rapidly swelling audience, were all wondering what the hell was taking Harry so long in rearranging Niall’s face.

When the shower of blows never fell, Niall risked a glance at his tormentor and was shocked to see that even though his fists were curled into concentrated destruction, his eyes were rimmed red and perhaps even close to tears. Niall had seen Harry staring at him relentlessly since he first came here, but this was the first time Harry flinched at being caught looking. Helpless, he hissed viciously, “Faggot!”

That got a good reaction from the onlookers, who erupted in dark chatter, clearly expecting the carnage to begin, but their dirge was cut short by the spiked tenor of Coach Bartly:

“Styles! Principal’s office! Now!” Then, the Coach was there, facing down a boy several inches taller than him and twice as angry. For a moment, Niall was convinced that Harry was going to direct his fury at a teacher, but, to everyone’s surprise, he seemed to catch himself and, without a backwards glance, stormed down the hall. Determined to see that Harry made it to his intended destination without further mayhem, Bartly marched after him, leaving the survivors to fend for themselves.

Several of the spectators came to Niall’s aid, getting him to his feet and helping him steady himself, but Niall was far too shocky to look into their faces or even thank any of them. He could hear the excited mantra of, “What happened? What happened?” being repeated on a loop of a hundred voices all around him, but he had no inclination to answer them and wouldn’t have known what to say if he did.

The bell rang.

One of the sophomore year teachers came into the hall and started commanding the students to break it up and get to their classrooms which gave Niall the space he needed to escape from the gaggle of people that had collected around him. He immediately sought Hannah and realized she hadn’t moved away from his locker, and was holding his backpack defensively in front of her.

The press of nosey rubber-necks was thinning swiftly and Niall was able to take Hannah’s shoulder and guide her to an alcove full of trash cans – it was unsavory, but private.

Much to his relief, Niall didn’t see blood anywhere on her, only fat, spherical tears that dropped in perfectly straight lines from behind her mangled frames.

“Hey, you ok?” he asked, trying to put healing comfort in his voice.

Hannah nodded, lying.

When she bowed her head again, Niall couldn’t resist tucking her against his chest and giving her a bracing squeeze. He surveyed the hall – a few gawkers still lingered, no doubt concocting stories about the new boy hugging the school dweeb.

“You want to get out of here?” Niall asked her. “C’mon, you’re not sitting through class like this.”

Hannah shook her head in agreement and reluctantly handed Niall his backpack. “Come on,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her as deftly as he could from the school.

Neither of them had any means of transportation, but the nearest commercial center was only a few blocks away; they both welcomed the seclusion of walking along a small city street on a quiet day. Niall didn’t need to look at Hannah’s face to know she was crying out her shock and embarrassment. Frankly, Niall was grateful for the opportunity to be a rock for someone to lean on, since it kept him from tipping into the same state as her.

It was his intention to keep silent for the entirety of their walk, but half way through their journey, he couldn’t keep himself from commenting, “America’s bloody _violent_!”

His perspective was somewhat skewed, since in America he was drawing far more attention than he ever had in Ireland.

“No one ever got in fights in the UK?” Hannah asked through a gobby snort.

“No. I mean, sure, they did—It’s just I was never part of it. No one noticed me much and when they did, it was always ‘Oh, you’re Greg’s brother.’”

“Did you like him? Your brother?”

“Well, yeah. Everyone did. Absolutely everyone did. He was good at everything, really popular, good looking, smart, the whole lot of it. No one wanted to get into it with me, because no one wanted to displease him.”

“Did your brother beat people up?”

“No!” Niall replied with a startled laugh, “He was really nice. I mean, really, really nice; everyone loved him, even the rough boys that were always getting in scrapes. Everyone… Everyone liked him.” Then he shrugged as if to say, ‘I don’t know how he did it.’

“He’s in London, now,” Niall continued when he realized Hannah’s sniffing and hitching had abated somewhat. “He’s this brilliant computer guy. He got a job lined up for when he graduates – some electronic security gig with the government. All very posh.”

“That sounds important,” Hannah contributed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and desperately trying to sniff her snot back up her nose.

“I won’t judge if you want to wipe your nose on your sleeve,” he said, all chivalry.

“Thanks,” she replied, and did just that.

~*~

They eventually found themselves at a McDonald’s – the only place in the small block that would provide somewhere for them to sit down. The $10 bill that Niall had in his pocket bought them some McNuggets and a shake to share. In Niall’s estimate, McDonald’s had nothing over Nandos, which he wondered in his heart if he would ever see again.

They ate in silence for a few moments, when Hannah said, “Do you hate it here? Do you want to go back to Ireland?”

Niall dipped his nugget in the honey sauce and popped it in his mouth, thinking as he chewed. “No,” he said, before he swallowed. “Well, I haven’t really been here long enough to say… It’s only been about a week. I mean, I miss all of my friends and everything, and I’ve already been beat up twice, but… There’s something – I don’t know – exciting about it all, I suppose.”

“I don’t think it’s very exciting,” Hannah said, losing interest in her food and looking like she was about to cry again. Niall reached out across the table and patted her shoulder.

“Thanks for being nice to me,” the girl whispered quietly. “Not a lot of people would’ve stood up for me.”

The truth was, if Niall had known it was Harry Styles that had attacked her, he probably wouldn’t have. It still mystified him that he had escaped unscathed.

“That guy’s a prick,” Niall said adamantly. “He’s one of those people that would kick a puppy in the street – he’s just hateful, Hannah. Don’t think it means you deserved it—“

“I did deserve it.” Hannah said it so quietly Niall didn’t hear it at first. He paused from where he was reaching for a napkin and said, “Sorry?” With a quick sip of air, Hannah hazarded a glance at him, her eyes welling up with tears, “I did deserve it – I knew I shouldn’t have said anything, I didn’t mean to; it just came out because I was happy. All the stupid things I do, I do when I’m happy.”

The napkin Niall was reaching for was immediately passed to Hannah so she could dry her eyes. “Whoa, slow down,” he said, leaning forward in his seat, “Start at the beginning – what happened?”

Hannah’s bottom lip was trembling, making her stutter a bit. “It’s… I was talking to my mom yesterday when I got home. She was asking me about school and I – I started talking about you, cause you’re new and all and I… I just said that I thought…” She trailed off, her skin bright pink in a way that was making Niall nervous, but when she started up again, it was on a completely different track. “See, Harry and I, we’ve gone to school together forever, you know? And we used to be friends – me and him and his sister. I would go to his house to play sometimes and he would come over to mine… We used to live in the same part of town, before his dad left. And things got – things got really bad for Harry. I mean, they were always bad, but things got, you know – _really_ bad.”

Niall didn’t want to push her, but her narrative wasn’t coming together cohesively and it was hard to follow.

“So why’d he hit you?”

“He… I just got so happy last night, see, because… Like I’ve said, we’ve always been friends and things have always been really hard for him and when my mom got me talking about you last night, I just said… I just told her how nice I thought it was because Harry really seemed to like you. And that was nice, because things have always been really hard for him.”

She went silent as if that answered the question. Niall nodded for a moment as if he understood, and he said, “Ok,” not wanting to be impolite and pry if that was all she was willing to share. It seemed as if that was as deeply as she was willing to tell it, but then her face crumpled up and she whimpered out guiltily, “Except I didn’t say it like that, I said I thought he was in love with you!”

She hid her face in her napkin, trying to not draw attention, although a few patrons glanced her way. The fact that Hannah thought such a thing made Niall both alarmed and uncomfortable, but he wasn’t about to turn the conversation to himself, right now. So, he squeezed her shoulder again and pressed, “But why? Why would telling your mom make him do that?”

Hannah sniffed. “Because my mom probably told his mom.”

“Are they close friends?” Then a thought occurred to him, “Or, wait – Let me guess: His mom works at the twelve step center with your mom and Zayn’s dad.”

Niall was smiling because he thought he was making a joke. Hannah wasn’t smiling at all when she said, “She doesn’t _work_ there.”

And Niall got it. He felt kind of stupid. Hannah seemed to only feel worse.

“Did you see his face?” she pressed the crumpled up napkin against her new tears, “That bruise on his mouth—“

“It’s not your fault,” Niall insisted staunchly. “He still shouldn’t have done what he did to you. Hannah, you can’t blame yourself for that—“

“I knew better than to—“

“Why the bloody hell did your mom tell his?”

“Probably because she thought it would make her as happy as it made us.“

“It’s not even _true_!”

Finally, a little bit of sunshine seemed to peek through the clouds on Hannah’s face when she looked at him with glittering eyes, “It so _is_.”

Niall just scoffed, unwilling to concentrate on how unsettled the very idea made him. “A boy like that isn’t gay. He looked like he wanted to kill me, I swear to God.”

Hannah had to nod in agreement, because it most certainly had looked like Harry wanted to kill him. “But he didn’t.”

Suddenly, Niall couldn’t sit here, anymore. He needed to move, or else he was going to crawl out of his own skin. Hannah seemed game for a new environment as well and, still carrying half a milkshake, they decided the school didn’t need them back quite yet and that it would best serve them to visit the public park across the street.

One thing about Jefferson Valley was that they did not skimp on maintaining their public places. The park was equipped with freshly varnished benches, neatly trimmed walking paths and a safe but exciting playground, where Hannah and Niall were naturally attracted.

They chatted about frivolities, gossip, and even their families as they crawled all over the jungle gym. To cheer her up, Niall was sure to share a few anecdotes about Zayn and mentioned how they had a coffee date on Sunday. He even tagged it with, “Maybe you could come along. I’m sure he won’t mind.” The very suggestion of it made Hannah fling herself from the monkey bars in an acrobatic display and do a far less impressive, but no less impassioned dance in the sand, which made Niall laugh.

The walk back to the school saw them in far better spirits than their departure from it. Hannah was still a little shaken and did ask Niall questions like ‘What happens if I run into him in the halls?’ and ‘How do I make it up to him?’ which all had Niall replying that everything would be ok and that Harry should be the one apologizing to her.

The fact that they arrived at school after lunch, just as the bell was ringing to send Niall to his French class that he had with Louis Tomlinson, was entirely happenstantial. When they got to the main hall, Niall gave Hannah a bear hug and he didn’t care who saw. She looked up at him, borderline soppy again.

“Hey,” Niall smiled, “You’re going to be ok.”

After a sniff, Hannah smiled back and said softly, “Thanks again, Niall.”

“Anytime.”

Just as they were parting and Niall had already turned his mind to the impending demands of the day, Hannah’s voice called him back. “You know,” she said, squinting through the frames that still sat cockamamie on her face, “You don’t react like most boys would’ve if they thought another boy had a crush on them.”

It was difficult to tell whether it was an honest observation or if she was baiting him, but she was clearly expecting a response. Had she made such a comment while they were alone, frolicking like innocents in the park, Niall might have confessed to her the truth that he had never confessed to another living human. But here, in a hall rapidly filling with vultures and parasites in human skin, Niall just shrugged casually and swaggered, “I’m a modern man.”

“You’re a good man,” Hannah corrected him before a final girlish smile and then she disappeared, swept up in so much human traffic.

Although he hurried, he still made it to French class after the tardy bell had rung. Mr. Lunt looked surprised at seeing him and the rest of the class started to hum with whispered gossip.

“Alright, pay attention!” Mr. Lunt said nothing of Niall’s tardiness, however.

The French class had tables instead of individual desks and Niall’s was to the far right, next to a girl he knew only as Jill, who always sat bolt upright and didn’t seem to find anything amusing. He tried to make his way as swiftly as possible, but then he heard a pointed, “Pssst!” and saw Louis, across the room, thumping the chair next to him with one of his crutches. It was the chair that Shelly Akerman always sat in, but it was empty now and Shelly was sitting a few rows to the left where the less popular kids sat; she looked frothily put out. To get across the room, Niall would have to do some pretty obnoxious maneuvering and interrupt what Mr. Lunt was trying to impart. But Niall would’ve done that a hundred times over for the chance to sit next to Louis, especially with no Liam Paynes anywhere in sight to foil his attempt.

With a clamor and more than a few ‘sorry’s, Niall finally tripped over his last book bag and stumbled into the seat next to Louis, grinning like a madman. The sight of him made Louis smile as well and he immediately leaned in close – so close Niall could smell him – and whispered, “You hear what happened to Harry, yet?”

“No. What?” Niall asked, trying to concentrate on his words instead of the fact that if he leaned in just a bit further, their shoulders would be touching. The very thought of their shoulders touching sent a warmth through Niall that reminded him of his lecherous activities last night and he had to take a steadying breath to keep himself decent.

“Suspended for a week. I think they’re gonna kick him out.”

“Really?” Niall’s eyebrows went up to his hairline.

“Aw, man, you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d been here. Kid’s a fucking asshole. He hangs out around the stadium sometimes just to start shit with us. Should’ve been booted out ages ago.”

“Tomlinson, stop encouraging bad behavior in our newest student, please,” Mr. Lunt said and Louis flashed him that sparkly grin that even middle-aged, straight French teachers couldn’t resist and said, “Who, me?”

Mr. Lunt, whose dedication to discipline was suspect, didn’t reply and simply turned back to the lecture, while Louis just leaned over again. “Did you do that homework?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

Louis clicked his tongue as if to say ‘aw, shucks’, and replied, “You know, I’m having trouble with it. You wanna help me out?”

Niall’s future passed before his eyes in that moment: A study date, a deep connection, an awkward pause, a kiss, a fumble, then sex, sex, more sex, lots of sex… Niall was pretty certain his future extended beyond that point, but his mind seemed to stall out on all the sex.

“Um, yeah! Whenever!” Too eager; Niall would’ve been kicking himself for that later, except it worked.

“Saturday? Before the party?”

The assignment was due Monday; a simple project wherein the student, with French as elegant as he could muster, must describe his own physical appearance in great detail. The only tricky bit was that it had to be a half a page in length, which would be an unpleasant task, even in English.

“Yeah, ok,” Niall said, his voice coming out in strange, puffy squeaks.

“Good! I can’t drive with this stupid thing, anyway!” To illustrate, Louis lifted his brace and let it clunk back against the floor. For a moment, Niall had a difficult time making sense of what seemed a non sequitur, but he swiftly realized Louis was under the impression that Niall would be driving him to the party. A rambling, stuttering, poorly composed history of how Niall didn’t have a driver’s license because driving age in Ireland was older than blah blah blah, was on the tip of his tongue, but Mr. Lunt must have dredged up some disciplinary energies, because he rounded on them in that instant.

“Am I going to have to separate you two?”

“Non, monsieur! Nous etre .. buns… garcons!” Louis cobbled together, looking all the more charming for it.

“Nous sommes bons garcons,” Niall muttered with a self-conscious smirk, but everyone heard him anyway.

“Thank you, Niall,” Mr. Lunt drawled sarcastically, “At least one of you is listening.”

The girls of the class were particularly taken with the exchange and showed it in a brief smattering of giggles.

“Show off,” Louis accused, his delicate features quirked in impish delight. Niall laughed at himself softly and looked away, but Louis bumped his arm, looked him dead in the eye and said, “Tomorrow? I’ll give you my number.”

~*~

The ritualistic meeting of Niall and Zayn in the library after sixth period commenced without a hitch.

“Hey!”

“Hey!”

“Where were you?”

“Oh, Hannah and I decided to ditch after what happened this morning.”

“You faced down Harry-fucking-Styles and I missed the whole thing!”

“You didn’t miss much – I could show you exactly what it looked like.”

“What the hell’re you doing?”

“Showing you.”

“Niall, get off the floor!”

“So, it looked like this, pretty much, but imagine me pissing myself.”

“I won’t, thanks.”

“It was epic.”

“You spilled your pencils all over, you doofus. Did you hear what they did?”

“Suspended him, yeah.”

“Yeah – here, you missed one. Everyone’s shocked to shit they waited til now to do it. Did you hear – last winter, he put a rock through every window of Blakely’s car.”

“Blakely?”

“Yeah, the principal.”

“Jesus! Why isn’t he in jail?”

“Oh, well, for that, they couldn’t prove it was him, but everyone knew it was. But he’s been in juvie at least twice. I don’t know why they keep putting him back in here.”

“I’m missing my Batman pencil.”

“Oh.”

“Zayn.”

“Fine, here.”

“Thank you. So… is everyone talking about it?”

“It’s all anyone is talking about! You’re the guy that stood up to Harry Styles!”

“Cause I’m an idiot!”

“Still.”

“Bell’s going to ring in a second.”

“Yeah. Can I give you a ride home after school?”

“If you can – thanks, Zayn, that’d be great.”

The bell rang.

“K. I’ll see you Sunday, yeah? For coffee?”

“Oh, Zayn!”

“What?”

“Hannah’s going to come with us.”

“What?”

“Hope that’s ok.”

“Niall!”

“What?”

“I – nothing.”

“K! See you then!”

~*~

Niall very much would have preferred to have spent his few moments with the boy who was quickly becoming his best friend giddily expressing his excitement over his impending date (not-a-date) with Louis Tomlinson, rather than rehashing the menace and destructive capacity of the monster Niall was now convinced was out for his head. In fact, Niall was so overflowing with twitterpated vigor, he thought he might combust if he didn’t get a chance to tell another human soul. But there was no soul in whom he could safely confide other than his own. So, through all of music and English, Niall journaled.

His ideas spanned from the cosmic (“It has to mean something, right? I never even said so much as hello to him and he’s asking me to hang out with him. He must see something in me, too, even if it’s not romantic. We were _meant_ to be together!”) to the mundane (“What in bloody hell am I going to wear?”). But he was frequently interrupted due to the pesky fact that he was still at school and the world had not stopped because he had a date (not-a-date) with Louis Tomlinson.

And there was something fishy going on. Niall was getting called on a lot in class, and almost every time after he spoke, a ripple of delighted titters washed over those listening, even from the boys. In English, when Mrs. Tindell called upon Chelsea Martin to answer a question, Chelsea replied, “You know, I think Niall could explain that way better than me. Have him answer it!” And, strange beyond reckoning, Mrs. Tindell, with a puckish glint in her eye, did so. It was only when he returned to his locker and saw that someone had vandalized it with the words “WHALE OIL BEEF HOOKED” that Niall figured it out.

He rolled his eyes. Americans were suckers for just a few hard ‘th’s and curling ‘i’s. After deciding that he rather liked the motto written on his locker in permanent marker, he immediately set to wondering if Louis Tomlinson was as enchanted with the way he spoke as the rest of Jefferson Valley seemed to be. Zayn clearly was, that much was certain. Several times, Niall had caught him silently repeating to himself something Niall had just said, to see how the accent felt on his own lips. Niall had a go at him for it, but secretly found it rather endearing.

The fog of these trivial contemplations cast such a pleasant fog over Niall’s awareness that he had not maintained the proper vigilance of a defenseless creature in a territory with known predators. This negligence resulted in his nearly plowing directly into the Payne brothers as he neared the school doors at the front of the building. The taller lads hadn’t seen him yet, but there was no way he was going to square off against the entire rogues gallery of the school in one day, so the front doors were not going to be Niall’s path to freedom this evening.

He knew enough to know if he went out the doors at the back of the school, he could swing east and, while it would certainly be a bit of a trek and Zayn would have to spend several moments wondering if he was forgotten, Niall would eventually make his way to the parking lot.

So, back he went, back past the cafeteria, the classrooms and his own locker (the graffiti looked cooler each time he passed it), and observed the halls get emptier and emptier. All that metal and linoleum were eerie when it wasn’t filled with students; it was somewhat reminiscent of an abandoned hospital.

Thankfully, the rear exit hadn’t been locked yet and Niall, in his impatience, started skipping, hoping to get around the building before Zayn left without him. He burst through the doors into the small alcove behind the school where the dumpsters were and was immediately assaulted by a cloud of cigarette smoke. It stung his throat and he had to huff like a dog with a fly on his nose to keep it from infecting his lungs. He knuckled his eyes to keep them from weeping and when his vision cleared, he saw a figure emerge from behind one of the dumpsters that made his stomach turn to ice.

Harry Styles stood before him, burning cigarette smoking between his fingers, looking just as surprised to see Niall as Niall was to see him. Judging by the amount of smoke the alcove had collected and how cozy Harry seemed to have made himself amidst the refuse, Niall had to guess he had been sitting out there for quite some time.

When Niall looked back at Harry’s face, the surprise was fading from those limitless green eyes and something else was setting in -- something dark – and after he flicked the remainder of his cigarette in the trash, he started prowling toward the smaller boy like a leopard, all fangs. Niall reacted the only way his survival instincts would let him: he ran. Moving faster than he ever had before in his life, he dodged left, blowing past Harry as deftly as he could, into the field beyond the school.

Then he just charged, running so fast and so hard, no one on the soccer team would doubt his right to join them, had they seen it. Harry was right behind him and he knew it – he could feel it as surely as he’d feel his own death and he flung his backpack from his shoulders in order to give himself more mobility.

He didn’t know where he was going; he just knew he had to get there before Harry. Instead of going east to the parking lot, he’d gone west, something in him subconsciously seeking the safety of the stadium, hoping to find Coach Bartly to save him as he had that morning. There was about 50 yards of field between the school and the pitch that Niall had to traverse and he had sprinted half its length before he saw it: a fence, two stories high, and extending nearly so far as the private property line, separating the field from the stadium. The chain link was necessary, Niall realized with dread, for when the stadium was used for baseball, to keep the balls from being lost forever in the weeds.

But there was no way Niall could stop, now. He was absolutely out of options and Harry was nipping at his heels like a savage wolf. Several times, he could feel Harry’s fingertips catch at the back of his hoodie and Niall knew he couldn’t outpace those long legs forever. His only option was to try to climb and when he neared the fence, he launched himself at it, hoping to get high enough fast enough that Harry couldn’t catch him.

He was woefully disappointed. Before his fingers could even curl into the metal of the chain link, there were two powerful hands digging into his hips and dragging him back to the earth. The fence rang out like gunshot when Harry slammed him against it, spinning him around and then pinning him there with his own body. All Niall could do was defensively brace himself against Harry’s chest with his arms while the larger boy pressed into him harder, pulling the fence tight against Niall’s back and panting harshly into his hair.

Niall let out the soft, pained squeak of a cornered animal, too winded to speak any real words or call for help. Even if he had it wouldn’t have been of any use, since Harry’s hands were suddenly all over him, tugging at his hoodie, manhandling him, and eventually in his hair, wrenching his head back so his face and neck were completely exposed and vulnerable.

And then Harry was kissing him.

They were savage kisses, hungry and demanding and desperate and Niall couldn’t breathe for their intensity. For a moment, Niall was so startled, he didn’t even resist. He became dizzy as Harry sucked his lips into his mouth and when his jaw dropped to take a gasp of air, Harry pushed inside with his tongue. That brought him out of it somewhat and he tried to shove Harry off with hands fisted in Harry’s t-shirt, but the other boy was stronger by far and only crushed Niall harder into the fence to better control him.

He could feel Harry panting against him as he drove his kisses into his mouth and felt his chest swelling and falling against his scrabbling hands. When Niall whimpered into Harry’s mouth, the other boy answered him with a grunt and kissed him harder, curling his fingers tightly into his hair with both hands. Niall was trembling so fiercely, he felt that without the strong grip, he might have collapsed to the ground.

Then those forceful hands grabbed at the waistband of his jeans and Niall felt himself being hoisted onto Harry’s hips, leaving him no option but to let Harry between his thighs as he was pinned to the fence again.

Niall clung to Harry’s clavicles, both to push him away and keep himself grounded, as Harry ravished him over and over as if he was his last taste of life. The smoke was on his lips and, it might have been Niall’s imagination, but he thought he could taste a trace of blood.

It was when Niall started to panic about where Harry intended to take all of this that the evening lights of the stadium turned on, flooding the area with white light and breaking the still air with a sound like thunder. Startled, Harry jerked away from the fence, letting Niall drop to his feet and Niall saw his opportunity. He shoved as hard as he could and, after stumbling only briefly over Harry’s feet, he bolted, tearing blindly into the field and not looking back.


	8. Part the Next Part VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those of you sticking through with me on this! I know it's slower-paced than the normal fanfic, but I'm a huge fan of the slow burn. As always, I love to hear your thoughts!

Niall didn’t know how long he’d been running, but when his lungs gave out, forcing him to stop and take account of his surroundings, he realized he’d sprinted nearly half way home. The air that he was gulping down in enormous breaths felt too cold for his over-heated lungs and he doubled over, catching himself on his own knees. For a moment, he was convinced he was going to throw up. The nausea passed eventually and the cooling evening breeze on his skin did much to calm his racing heart and feverish mind.

The incident replayed over and over behind his closed eyes; he could still feel Harry’s hands on his body and the press of his lips. He had to touch his fingers to his mouth to convince himself that Harry’s kisses hadn’t left a physical imprint. Of course they hadn’t, but the flesh there was sensitive and a spark shot through Niall’s body that made his breath catch.

It frightened him. Immediately, he went to consoling himself, trying to convince himself that what had happened behind the school was nothing to be terribly distressed about and surely he was a baby for being so affected by it. It was just boys being boys, right?

Except a boy had scared him; chased him down, wrestled him into submission and kissed him passionately and, perhaps the worst thing of all – he had absolutely no one to talk to about it. Niall suddenly found himself close to tears. He stomped up and down the pavement, back and forth, as if kinetic energy would exorcise these gnawing feelings of loneliness and confusion. He wasn’t even thinking when he reached for his phone, knowing he was going to dial Zayn’s number and, in something akin to hysteria, confess everything to him.

But when his hand reached for his backpack, it met with nothing. A new, colder fear gripped him now. It returned to him that in his manic flight across the field, he had shed his backpack to facilitate his getaway and, in the return trip, had been so focused on escape that it hadn’t occurred to him to retrieve it.

His cellphone was in that backpack, along with his course work, his books, his wallet, his keys, and, of course, his journal. His journal, in which he had expressed his innermost desires, his secret fears, and his intense, burning desire for Louis Tomlinson; all this, and more, was available for the reaping of any soul fortunate enough to come across it and Niall knew, in the pit of his gut, that the person who was going to come across it was Harry.

He could try to kid himself, say the likelihood of Harry scavenging his things was slight -- or perhaps he hadn’t been aware that Niall had shucked his bag in the first place. But Niall was no fool; Harry catalogued his every gesture and it wasn’t far-fetched to imagine he would be greatly interested in rifling through Niall’s personal belongings.

Niall’s everything was in Harry’s hands.

“Fuck!” Niall squawked into the peaceful suburban evening, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, and fuck!!”

The casual observer might be inclined to believe Niall was trying to rip his scalp off his own head for the way he was pulling his hair. A few pathetic whimpers escaped him and he had to regulate his breathing to not tip into sobs.

Facing Harry again was not an option. His previous two encounters with the boy led to absolute overwhelm and Niall felt that a third might be the end of him entirely. No, he would go home, tell his parents, and they would know what to do.

The thought got him walking again, even though he knew he was kidding himself. Confessing to his parents that he had been beaten up, bullied, and careless was just as unthinkable as returning to the field and trying to wrest his belongings back from Harry. But to admit that to himself would see him standing forlornly on the sidewalk, a neutral to his own will and fortune.

He had to go to the back of his house, because he knew where his parents hid the key under the planter. After letting himself in, he was immediately drawn to the sound of Frank Sinatra in the living room and saw his parents unpacking the last of the tchotchkes. His mother was singing along, swaying her hips and wiggling the porcelain dolls in her hands as if they were conductor’s batons. His father was holding a photograph to the length of his arm, clearly trying to figure out at what time the image fit into his life.

“Niall!” Maura said, once she noticed her son standing at the mouth of the room like a marionette hung up for the evening. “Where have you been, love? Greg just Skyped us and he wanted to talk to you!”

“Greg Skyped?” Niall asked, suddenly knowing there was nothing more in the world he wanted than to speak with his brother.

“Seems he’s got a new girlfriend,” Bobby said, the pride making his voice rich and glowing. “She sounds like a good one!”

“We’re very happy for him,” Maura supplemented.

“Oh, yeah?” Niall asked, his voice weak. “How’s – did he say how uni’s going?”

“Doing great!” Bobby said with a laugh. “Challenging him, he says, but you know how your brother is – he excels at a challenge.”

Niall nodded – Greg did excel when challenged and he certainly would never get bullied. He would never be overpowered or lost or feel alone – and he would never keep a secret, because he would never be ashamed of himself. These thoughts triggered Niall deeply and, very much against his will, he started to cry. It made his nose run and although he snorted quietly, his mother heard it.

“Oh—“ she said softly, gingerly placing the set of glass swans on a side table and coming to his aid. “What’s wrong, love?”

‘I’m gay and I’m afraid you won’t love me anymore, and I’m in love with a boy at school, but another boy who scares the shit out of me tackled me and kissed me and I’m completely out of control and powerless,’ was exactly what he was planning to say and it was poised on the tip of his tongue, but something arrested it before it could find voice and what he ended up saying was, “I wrecked my bike.”

The hand that Maura was extending to soothe him slowly retracted and she said weakly, “Oh…”

Mr. Horan’s face slowly grew purplish-red. He shook his head and tutted, “Niall, Niall, Niall. Now, I thought we got you that bike with a certain understanding—“

“Yeah, I know,” Niall said, shame at his own tears compounding the issue.

“Let me finish, young man. We got you that bike with the understanding that you were going to take care of it. You were going to show us that you could be responsible.”

“I’m sorry,” Niall sniffled, reminding himself that Greg would never sniffle.

“Oh, darling,” Mrs. Horan said, her hands folded before her like a displeased school marm, “How are we ever going to trust you with a car?”

After a heavy sigh of pointed disapproval, Mr. Horan asked, “Well, did you get hurt?”

Niall surveyed himself. For all the scares he’d received during the day, not a single one left a mark. His hand flew up to his lips, concerned for just a moment that his parents might see the kisses there. But he took it away just as fast when he realized he was being silly.

“No.”

“Oh, Niall, Niall, Niall.” It was his mother who had taken up the mantra, now.

“It’s in the garage,” Niall told them. “I hid it behind the trash cans.”

“Niall,” his father said, dropping the picture frame he was holding with some vehemence onto the sofa. “A man doesn’t hide it when he’s done something wrong. How long have you been keeping this from us?”

Niall watched the tears splatter across the floor and his shoes as they fell from his face.

“Just—Just a day or so. Not long. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Oh, Niall.”

“God damn it, Niall!” Both mother and son flinched at the language. “When are you going to grow up? You’ve got to take responsibility for your actions and be direct! You should have come to us right away and apologized like a man! Stop crying!”

For a moment, anguish flared up in Niall so acutely, he thought it might tear into the pit of himself, but a counter force emerged, making everything in his body go still and numb. It was from this place of system shutdown that he managed to wipe his face and keep it dry.

Bobby Horan was circling the sofa, huffing and grumbling to himself while his wife stood between them, uncertain which man she should support or how to do it. Eventually, Bobby seemed to get a hold of himself and with a throw of the hands and a throaty sigh, he said, “Another year. You have another year to prove yourself before you can even consider getting a license, son.”

“What?”

“You heard me! If you’re going to act like a spoiled brat who can’t take care of his things, I don’t see why we should keep providing them for you! A car’s not a bike, son! I’m not giving a car to a lad who shows no respect for personal property!”

“That’s not fair! In another year, I’ll be out of the house!”

“Well, then you can get out sooner if you have a problem with it!”

“Bobby!”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you!” Niall yelled before tearing past his mother who had finally made the decision to comfort her son, but was too late because he was now tearing up the stairs and locking himself in his room.

The first thing he did was grab the sand dollar he’d collected from their trip to the Florida Keys and dash it against the wall. It evaporated into so much dust and immediately Niall’s heartbreak was doubled. He hugged himself and dropped onto the bed, every inch of him both agitated and exhausted.

The grating sound of his parents fighting downstairs taxed him further. He’d begun to associate the very tenor of their voices with discord and he snarled loudly through his teeth to drown out the noise. It was only temporary and did nothing to remedy his situation.

He wanted his journal. Words were scrambling his brain for want of expression and helplessness was taking hold, when he had never before considered himself a helpless person. The recollection of this started to shift his inner tide from lamentation to taking action, if only to prove to himself that he could. After all, he wasn’t responsible for any of the misfortunes that befell him and he refused to be pigeonholed as unwitting victim. He was Greg Horan’s brother – and like Greg Horan, he had the capacity to assert himself and demand that the world treat him fairly.

Invigorated with new purpose and a firm belief in a command of his own destiny, he flung himself out of bed and charged down the stairs, past his bickering parents. He didn’t stop when they called his name, but allowed the inertia to take him into the garage; here, he prided himself on his independence in taking his father’s bicycle without even asking.

“Not anymore, not anymore, not anymore,” he chanted to himself in rhythm with his pedaling. He felt the fatigue in his muscles, but his crusade gave him strength.

He was several blocks away from home when he had the presence of mind to ask himself where exactly he was going. In his mind’s eye, there was no other possibility but that Harry had taken his things from the field, which made going to the field obsolete. He had no idea where Harry lived, only what Hannah had told him about Harry having had lived near her once, but that told him nothing of Harry’s location at present.

That left him with one option: The shack on the edge of the woods. As soon as it came to his mind, he knew it was where he would find the boy. At any other time, Niall would’ve shied away from ever entering that place alone and undefended, but in his present state, he was able to quench any rising apprehension with righteous determination.

It only took him a matter of minutes to reach the gold field. He veered his bicycle into the weeds and the stalks got caught in the wheels, nearly sending Niall flying over his handlebars. He stumbled to the ground, but managed to not accrue much damage. The stalks of grass were nowhere near as soft and yielding as they looked from the road. They had microscopic spikes on them that plucked at Niall’s clothes and their stems were stiff and unwelcoming. It was a mystery how Harry had managed to look so graceful when he had strode through them the evening prior.

The cabin was well hidden in the cover of the encroaching forest, but Niall could see there was light within. The trepidation he had managed to stifle was attempting to break through again, but Niall beat it back with his mantra, “Not anymore, not anymore, not anymore.”

As he neared, the small structure’s personality became clearer. He could see the wood was rotted and that it was in fact half the size of his room in his own house. Scattered about it were what looked like old grounds keeper’s tools, rusted beyond usefulness and half-buried in earth. A few rotting tires were decaying around the shack’s perimeter and three plastic jugs that had been cut in half contained what looked like a poorly constructed attempt at a garden. There was a window facing the field, but it had become so fogged with dirt and spider webs, there was no looking in or out of it.

The door was once painted white and looked too narrow to allow passage for a fully grown man. Niall considered knocking, but complacent manners didn’t appeal to him at the moment and, after a fortifying breath and a reminder as to his intentions, he shoved the door open and stepped inside.

It wasn’t as impressive a display as he had hoped it would be, primarily because the door was a tight fit against a rocky firmament and Niall had to shove at it several times before the crack widened enough to let him through. His ambush had backfired and once he was inside the tiny structure, he saw Harry, standing next to a filthy mattress, a magazine in his hand. The bruise on his face was no less striking than when Niall had first seen it, despite the near-blackness of the shed.

For a few seconds, they just stared at each other. Everything Niall had prepared to say had absolutely flown from his head. It was, no doubt, in some small part due to his surprise at the surroundings; his impression of what he would find in the small shack never fully took form, but in his vague ideations, he envisioned something particularly grisly – maybe blood on the walls, cat corpses hanging from wires, bones of little animals everywhere. In truth, his subconscious had summoned something that looked roughly like an ogre’s den.

Instead, he saw a boy’s treehouse. The mattress on the ground, dirty, moldy and filled with holes, took up the majority of the small space, but crammed alongside it was a dresser, its wood just as rotted as the wood of the shack. There was a comforter on the bed, green, with its stuffing roaming in lumpy freedom inside it. Beside the makeshift bed was a little lantern, aloft on a hazardous stack of Rolling Stones magazines and illuminated by a tea light. On the walls were decaying posters – The Ramones, The Sex Pistols, one for the movie Trainspotting. Beer cans on the dirt floor and a few gardening tools on the narrow shelves were the only other objects that might have served as decoration.

That was all there was room for, really. But nowhere did Niall see any evidence of torture or possible victims – there wasn’t even a bit of rope to tie anyone up with.

Niall swallowed. The other boy was just watching him, his expression more guarded than Niall had ever seen it. The idea that Harry might be wary of him gave him the strength and focus to do what needed to be done.

“I came for my—My—I want my stuff!” He blurted, with as commanding a manner as he was capable. Harry had the grace to not pretend innocence and he pointed at the dresser briefly before he employed his hands with worrying the magazine he was holding.

Niall’s could feel subtle tremors wrack him when he opened the top drawer of the rickety old thing, but much to his relief, his cammo blue and grey backpack was inside. He hugged it against his pounding heart momentarily, but swiftly turned his attention back to Harry, who seemed incapable of lifting his eyes.

“Is there – is it all here?”

Harry just nodded.

“Did you find my phone?”

Harry nodded again and gestured at the bag as if to say ‘it’s in there’.

With fumbling fingers, Niall unzipped the main compartment and saw, as he knew he would, among his books and other paraphernalia, the spiral of his journal; of course there was no evidence as to whether it had been opened. However, even to know it was near made the world seem a safer place.

He curtly zipped his bag up again. He didn’t know what to say and he knew Harry wouldn’t help him.

“Thanks,” he concluded simply. Harry may or may not have bobbed his head in acknowledgment, but Niall was already turning to slip into the field again.

He had given the jammed door another yank when he heard behind him, “I’m not a psychopath, you know.”

And like that, the wind went right out of Niall’s sails. He didn’t have to ask for clarification; he immediately knew exactly to what Harry was referring and it stopped him dead in his tracks. Turning around didn’t even seem feasible and Niall just hung in the doorway, feeling the shame at his deepest secrets having been exposed to a boy who was little more than a stranger to him.

“I’m not,” Harry said again, his voice more fervent, but with a detectable trace of sadness.

Trapped and immobilized by his own mortification, Niall’s mind supplied him with everything he had written in his journal about Harry. From the first moment he’d written the words, “And you really are feeling the eyes of the school psychopath bore into your back,” he had used the epithet as his sole identifier when it came to Harry. “The psychopath is staring again,” “Psychopath didn’t show up today – thank god,” “wonder if Psycho actually lives in that shack,” “heard Psycho refuses to change for gym,” etc.

“You shouldn’t have read that,” Niall said, emerging back into the small room. “That was none of your business, you shouldn’t have read it!”

The other boy wasn’t looking at him, but keeping a keen watch on a pebble stuck in his dirt floor. It made room for Niall’s anger and he spat out, “How much did you read?”

When Harry didn’t answer, Niall yelled it, “How much did you read!?”

Harry’s eyes became unstuck from the floor and the set of his mouth betrayed his guilt. “Almost all of it.”

“Oh, _God_ ,” Niall groaned, gripping the edge of the dresser, feeling like a self-destruct mechanism was due to kick in at any moment. His most personal self had been laid bare before a person who not only was not an intimate, but a potential villain. The darkest secret of his sexuality was now entrusted into the hands of a known reprobate and criminal. “Harry—“ Niall moaned, utterly at a loss for words. “Harry—“

There were several moments silence in which Harry just stood there, watching as Niall spiraled closer and closer to meltdown.

“Nobody,” Niall sputtered out, having managed to catch a thread in his whirling thoughts, “Nobody knows, Harry, not my mom… Nobody, they—“ He gripped his temples as if he could take physical hold of his thoughts and quiet them. “Harry,” he said, “Harry, I’m gay.”

He had never said the words out loud before, not even to himself in the dark. Despite his current emotional dismay, he felt something in him give -- a knot he didn’t know had been so tightly tied had plucked free to some degree.

When he managed to come out from behind his hand for a moment, Niall saw an expression on Harry’s face that was borderline gentle. “I know,” Harry said, in that voice like dark molasses. “I always knew.”

“What?”

Harry considered a moment before he looked Niall dead in the eye and said with great humility, “The first time I saw you, I knew that you were perfect.”

Niall’s breath caught in his throat. The magazine dropped with a silky plop onto the mattress and with two long steps – slow, so as not to cause alarm – Harry crossed the room to where Niall stood paralyzed at the dresser.

To his credit, Niall didn’t give ground or rabbit. He was so awfully tired and reeling from praise the caliber of which he’d never received in his life. Those strong hands that had harrowed him before were now carefully cradling his face, gently urging him to lift his chin. When sad, lonely blue eyes met sad, lonely green ones, Niall hid behind his lids and Harry took that as the permission he hadn’t asked for earlier.

This kiss was different. It was so different from their previous encounter, it was injudicious to call both kisses by the same name. It was feather soft, a ghost of satin against his lips that only lasted for an instant. When Niall didn’t protest or back away, but remained with his face uplifted, his lips available, Harry tested his luck and kissed him again. This kiss was scary for its intimacy, the way their lips folded together in a dry lock, both captor and captive. It made Niall’s heart beat so fast, his reality narrowed to the sound of the ocean in his ears, the heat of Harry’s body enclosing him and the warmth spreading from the feeling of another boy’s mouth on his.

Overwhelmed, Niall ducked his head and took a lungful of air while Harry, hands still fondling his skull, let his unfinished kiss fall on Niall’s temple.

“I’ve never,” Niall said stupidly, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“I’ll teach you how,” Harry replied and tried to duck under Niall’s defenses, keening for his lips, but Niall pushed him away with a hand on his chest.

“Don’t tell anyone.” Unable to look into his eyes, Niall fisted a hand in Harry’s shirt to impress upon him the importance of this. “Please, swear you won’t tell anyone -- about what you read.”

There were few nightmares worse than what might happen to him if an army of bored teenagers found out that he, one of their peers, was gay. Many a night, Niall stayed awake, scouring YouTube, watching the promises of the elder set that ‘it got better’, and the confessions of victims who endured the daily torture of high school bullying. And while the ‘it gets better’ campaign did much for inspiring hope in the future, it offered very little for those suffering in the present. Niall never wanted to be one of those sufferers.

“Come see me again,” the other boy said. Niall was confused as to how that was a linear reply.

“What?”

The only light in the little shack came from Harry’s collection of tea light candles and their output was so weak that Niall could gather very little information from Harry’s face. But Harry expressed himself more in gestures than smiles and frowns and he took hold of Niall’s shoulders and pulled him against his body.

“Come see me again, and I won’t tell anybody.”

“Wh--?” Niall stuttered out again, struggling to find some place to put his hands that wasn’t on Harry’s body. It was a dark deal that Niall didn’t feel he was formidable enough to accept. “Harry, I – I can’t! Please, please don’t te—“

Then Harry was crowding him against the wall of the cabin, much as he had done at the fence. His grip on Niall’s shoulders turned to a vice lock and when he kissed him, it seared Niall from his lips to his very toes.

Niall wasn’t certain what first kisses should be like, but he would be very much surprised to learn if many people had had first kisses like this. He was under the very strong impression that Harry had kissed a lot – just as he punched, Harry kissed like a grown-up. There was no awkward fumbling or bumbling, just caressing and plunging and sucking and melting.

“Ok,” Niall gasped softly, defeated, when Harry finally let go of his lips. “I’ll – Just, please, don’t tell anybody. Swear you won’t tell anybody.”

“Swear you’ll come.” He sealed the demand with a kiss between Niall’s eyebrows that made the little Irishman sigh and close his eyes.

“I’ll come,” Niall promised in a whisper. “I swear.”

“I won’t tell anybody,” Harry offered in exchange. “I swear.”


	9. Part the Next Part VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate your support so much! Thank you, readers! 
> 
> The next chapter is turning out to be quite a bear, so I apologize if the update takes a bit longer. But in the meantime, I'm always eager to hear your thoughts!

The next morning saw Niall thrice astonished. Firstly, because he had actually slept until noon; secondly, because there was no noise of the television or music playing; and thirdly, because he felt the most peaceful he ever had since arriving in the US. These three elements were extraordinary because firstly, Niall was an early riser and only slept late in cases of illness; secondly, because his mother always enjoyed some racket or other, particularly in the event of anyone oversleeping; and thirdly, because yesterday had been so torturous, he expected to still be unsettled by the echoes of it. But, at noon, internally and externally, all was quiet.

He wiggled his toes in the bed and felt the heat it kicked up as he ruminated. The thought of Harry having read his journal was not so unbearable as it had been when it was first revealed. He had felt that the shame was going to kill him, but now, it caused him not the slightest tremor of alarm. Perhaps the proof that someone who had been privy to the darkest, most unsavory, ignominious, immature side of his nature – all expressed in sub-par prose -- would still want him near, want his friendship, want to kiss him – perhaps that was what had healed him more than the twelve hours of sleep he’d gotten.

After a mighty stretch that greatly upset the bedclothes, Niall rolled to his feet and undertook his usual morning regimen, most of which took place in the bathroom. When he reemerged with a towel around his waist and water droplets still clinging to him, he heard the sound of a Mass Effect spaceship taking off and he knew that someone had texted him.

The text read: “Niall its Louis can I come over at 4?”

Of course: The French homework. Niall certainly hadn’t forgotten about his date (not-a-date) with Louis Tomlinson, but it had taken a momentary backseat. Now that Niall was able to give it his full attention, he couldn’t keep from lifting himself onto his toes and doing a quick bastardization of a jig.

That was when his mom opened the door and his towel fell off.

“Jesus! Mom!”

“Sorry!” Mrs. Horan yelped, lifting the breakfast plate she was carrying as if it could fend off the sight of her teenage son’s bare rump.

“Mom, you have to knock first or something!” Quick as a bunny, Niall managed to find his pajama bottoms and hoist them over his hips. He even sat down on the bed to further thwart any additional possible bottom viewing.

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry! I just heard you were awake and I got excited—“

“Mom!” Red-faced, Niall’s morning equanimity had well evaporated. “What do you want?”

“I made you breakfast,” Mrs. Horan said sheepishly, slipping into the room and depositing a piping hot plate of scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and two slices of fried bread on his bedside table. When she stepped back, Niall got a look at her and saw she was wearing a neon, floral apron that Niall had never known was, nor would he ever have allowed to be, in Horan possession.

He looked at the breakfast. It had been what Maura had made for her sons’ birthdays since they were old enough to eat solids and Jesus – smoked salmon? Niall kept an itemized list of the ingredients in the house in his head and he knew there was no smoked salmon on the premises as of midnight last night. That meant that Maura must have snuck out this morning, and if his mother was out of the house before noon on a Saturday, it meant she had an agenda.

“What’s this about?”

Mrs. Horan took that as an invitation to sit down and she pulled his desk chair to the middle of the room so she could face him.

“About last night, love--”

“Aw, mom,” Niall winced, shying away. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“I just wanted you to know, your father and I – we love you very much. We do. And I know we’ve really failed you in your parenting –“ Her eyes went round and dewy with heartfelt sincerity.

“What?” Niall’s head snapped up, not liking where this was heading.

“It’s not your fault!” Maura replied, holding her hands up defensively. “We don’t blame you, love. It’s just that Greg was so easy. You know, such a good boy. He didn’t really need us to teach him anything, did he? And I’m afraid that when you came along, your father and I didn’t have much practice. So, I wanted to apologize.”

Niall swallowed and suddenly the smoked salmon he had been picking out of his eggs lost its glamor. “You – You think I didn’t turn out right?”

“Did I say that?” Maura asked, her voice going up several octaves in what she no doubt hoped communicated distress. “Did I say I didn’t think you turned out right? I didn’t say that, love!” She stroked over his blonde hair with chic, manicured nails, but far from soothing him, it made him more agitated. “Not at all! I was just discussing with your father last night how we should have taught you the things that didn’t come naturally to you – I mean, everything was just so easy with Greg—“

“I have a friend coming over,” Niall blurted suddenly, wanting to say anything to keep his mother from talking. “He needs help with his French homework.”

Although she tried to suppress it, it was clear by her eyes that Maura Horan was startled, “You have a friend coming over?” And maybe even a little impressed, “Here?”

“Yes,” Niall said, seeing that shift in her and unable to prevent the glimmer of pride that was swelling in him. “His name’s Louis and he’s—“ To say ‘perfect’, while an apt description, might have been too revealing, so instead he said, “Captain of the football team,” and saw immediately the enchantment it worked on his mother.

“The captain of the football team is coming over here?” she asked, every bit of her immediately converting back into the fifteen year old school girl who had tried and failed every year to attract the attention of a certain able-bodied footballer.

“Yeah, his name’s Louis, he’s—“

“I have to clean!” Maura was up from her chair in an instant. “We can’t have all these boxes, here! Oh, Niall, why didn’t you tell me?”

“What?”

“You have to tell me when we have company over! See? This is what I’m talking about!”

“He _just_ texted me—“

“Now I’m not going to get anything done. I had my afternoon all planned, but I guess it’s all for naught, now, because Niall is having a friend over,” she sulked, petulant at a problem of her own making. “Do something about these boxes, Niall. You should have had these cleaned out a few days ago. What time is he coming?”

“Four.”

“Then see that you have all of these boxes cleared out by the time he gets here, and don’t even think of just chucking them in the hall. I want them folded properly and put in the garage, you understand me?”

“Mom, this isn’t—“

“And I’ll have to shower, I can’t be seen looking like this.”

And like that, she was gone.

~*~

By the time the doorbell rang, Niall had gotten himself under control. The conversation with his mother had evoked a burst of frustration in him that provided great impetus for him to tear through the seven moving boxes he had left in his room, break them down and haul them into the garage. He had however, worked himself into such a sweat that he thought it prudent to shower again and put on a change of clothes.

So, when Niall opened the door and smiled brightly at his visitor, it was the smile of a man who had blown off a lot of his steam in physical exertion and looked sweet in a fresh, clean polo shirt.

“Hi!” Niall said a little breathlessly.

“Hi,” Louis smiled back, looking like concentrated perfection. In Niall’s eyes, he always looked so very clean, pristine and perfectly shaped. His blue eyes and honeyed skin were clear and more colorful than the common man’s, and he wore a blue and red stripped shirt that showed the delicacy of his collar bones and the strength of his shoulders. Behind him, a small, red Kia drove away, a pretty young girl that Niall didn’t recognize at the wheel.

“Come on in.” Niall backed away from the door and made room for Louis and his unwieldy crutches. Just as Louis was lifting himself over the threshold, Maura arrived in a fuchsia skirt and with a touch of makeup on.

“Oh, love, help him,” Maura said, taking hold of Louis’ elbow and impairing his ability to maneuver properly. Niall winced and cringed internally, but Louis was kind enough to not mention it.

“You must be Louis! Niall has told us so much about you!”

Niall had told her one thing about him, but to his mother it was all the world.

“Has he?” Louis’ grin to Niall was cheeky indeed and would have made Niall blush if he weren’t already pink from his mother’s buffoonery.

“All lovely things,” Mrs. Horan cooed, “I’m Niall’s mom, please call me Maura.”

“Nice to meet you,” Louis said, deftly not falling for that ‘Maura’ bait.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”

“We’re just going up to my room, Ma, we’ll be fine.” As Niall said this, he proceeded to lead Louis to the stairs, intending to get him up them as soon as possible.

“Are you sure?” Maura pressed.

“Positive,” Niall answered for the both of them.

“And you’ll be fine getting up the stairs?”

“I’ll help him, Ma.”

“If you need anything, just let me know!”

“I know, Ma!”

“I’ll just be in the living room, if you need me!”

“Yeah, Ma!” Niall snapped, his irritation having gotten the better of him. Now that their backs were turned to her, Louis gave Niall that universal expression of ‘parents are too much’ and had to stifle back a snort. Niall acknowledged him with a commiserative roll of the eyes, and then helped him get his crutches up onto the first step. As he did so, he caught his mother’s movement in the corner of his eye and when he looked at her, she gave him a merry wink as if to say ‘job well done’.

“You know,” Louis said, attracting his attention again, “If I can lean on you, I’ll get up much faster. Here –“ he balanced himself on one leg and pulled his crutches from under his arms, “Carry these—“, and gave them to Niall. One hand full of crutches, Niall’s other hand swiftly became full of Louis’ hip as the boy shamelessly flung his weight against him and draped an arm around his shoulder.

In the fumbling, Niall’s senses became awash with Louis. He smelled like laundry detergent and the sharp smell of manly deodorant. When Louis’ body pressed against his, Niall catalogued his physique; so similar to, yet unlike his own. It was evident that Louis could gain weight in a way that Niall couldn’t and that weight took the shape of hard, sinewy muscles that were suffering no atrophy despite Louis’ laid-up state.

And he felt perfect against him. In the instant when Louis made his first misstep and Niall had to wrap his arms around him, he was in utter nirvana. So much so that he thought he might have shown his intentions when Louis made to pull away and Niall was reluctant to let him.

“I can do it,” Louis laughed, misunderstanding Niall’s clinginess, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt myself.”

“Ok,” Niall whispered.

Then they stumbled up the stairs like a four-legged Quasimodo. Much to Niall’s surprise, it was somewhat difficult. As a result of being able to build all that muscle, Louis was heavier than Niall, even though they were the same height. It was a taxing workout and Niall enjoyed every minute of it, except for the minute when they arrived at the second story and Niall was a panting, sweaty mess and Louis wasn’t.

The other boy laughed maniacally at Niall’s obvious exhaustion. “Hot damn, look at you!” he cawed. “You’re gonna get your ass kicked at practice!”

For a moment, Niall saw visions of the Payne boys and their fists and he said, “What?”

“At practice, we run drills that are, like, twenty times worse than that! You know suicides?”

“Yeah,” Niall said feebly, having learned about this torture called ‘suicides’ in Phys Ed. Suicide drills were specifically designed for pain and involved the athlete in question sprinting to and from targets at greatly increasing intervals.

“We do suicides to the 50 yard line.”

Niall prayed to God he was joking, but Louis was only laughing at the look of dismay on Niall’s face.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, helping Louis limp into his room and gently depositing him on the bed.

“Don’t worry, after you stop throwing up, your body gets used to it pretty fast.”

“Can we talk about something else? Anything else?” Niall asked in mock tears as he leaned Louis’ crutches against the wall.

“Sure. Talk French to me, baby.”

That Niall was turning into the bookshelf to retrieve some text books was what saved him from the embarrassment of having Louis see the expression on his face. It was a sort of gooey expression that was borderline stoned and was attractive on no one, but ‘Talk French to me, baby’ was straight out of a masturbatory fantasy.

“Um,” Niall said, when his brain cells had reassembled in functioning order. “How far have you got on it?”

Louis snorted and Niall could hear him getting comfortable on the bed as he pretended to be very interested in the spines of the books he was blinking at stupidly as he waited for his face to go back to its normal color.

“I haven’t even started. I suck at French.”

En Bonne Forme seemed like as good a title as any to justify his staring at his bookshelf for so long and Niall slid it into his hands, pretending to be engrossed in it.

“Well, it’s a really easy assignment—“

“Holy shit, is that you?” Louis interrupted, struggling up onto his knees to get a better look at a picture Niall had hung in his recent fervor to get all of the boxes out of his room. It was of Greg at age 15, playing Riff in a local theater’s production of West Side Story. Greg wasn’t much of a dancer, but you wouldn’t be able to tell in the still photo where he was surrounded by an agile, mean-looking gang of 1950’s-America kids (at least 1950’s-America, as imagined by 2000’s-Mullingar).

Niall wasn’t one much for musicals or stage plays, but he thought his brother looked so badass in the picture, he’d kept it on his wall since Greg moved out. And, if viewed the right way, Greg did look an awful lot like Niall, if Niall were a little taller, broader and able to grow some facial hair.

Just as Niall was about to correct him as to the actual identity of the stud in the photograph, Louis started on, “This is West Side Story, isn’t it? Fuck, man, I love that musical! What are you doing, here? This is ‘When You’re a Jet,’ right?” Although Niall had only known him briefly, he could tell that Louis was the type of kid who was prone to frequent explosions of boyish delight and enthusiasm, and it was always a privilege to witness. Then, on his knees on Niall’s freshly-washed navy blue comforter, Louis started a little dance, singing, “When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette til your last dying day!” Then, with flashy jazz hands and a grin that put all Cheshire cats to shame, he handed off the lyric to Niall, who, though smiling and fluttering with giggles, knew it was time to fess up.

“That’s not actually me,” he shrugged, abashed. “That’s my brother, Greg.”

And like that, the show closed. Louis sank back on his heels and said, “Well. Shit.”

“You have a great voice, though,” Niall said, more sincere than bootlicking. “Do you ever try out for any of the school plays?”

“No,” Louis said, a little peevishness in his voice as he tried to get his brace situated more comfortably beneath him. “The guys would chew my ass off. Could you imagine--? Besides, the theater geeks are the worst kind of freaks.”

“Oh.” Niall sat down on the bed, close enough to feel Louis’ body heat. “Well, Greg was in musicals and he was captain of the footie team.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t at Jefferson Valley High. You gotta be careful who you hang out with here. Which, um – you should probably stop eating lunch with the losers. Been meaning to tell you that.”

Niall was momentarily confused. He’d been eating his lunches with Hannah and Zayn and a few of Zayn’s friends, but none of them were losers. Louis must’ve seen the mystification cloud over Niall’s features and he clarified for him, “Like, Zayn. That guy’s boring as a fucking lamp post. And Hannah Whoreson. That’s the wrong fucking crowd, man.”

Niall immediately looked away. He was stunned to the roots of his hair tips and he had a feeling if Louis were anyone else in the world, he would’ve gotten a smack in the face. Everything that came to his mind to say was incendiary and to bypass any possible confrontation, Niall started fussing with his school things. He went to the desk and got one of his notebooks, opening to a blank page and saying in rather sharp tones, “So, are we going to do this, or what?”

To his credit, Louis wasn’t an utter blockhead incapable of discerning when he’d upset someone. He sat up a little straighter and dropped the partial sneer that had formed on his face. “Look, man—“ he said, with a perfectly timed sigh of repentance, “I’m just trying to look out for you – I really am. School’s rough and you don’t get a lot of second chances.”

Niall didn’t reply; he was pretending to be incredibly focused on writing ‘Louis’ French Homework’ at the top of the paper. He couldn’t be certain, but Louis seemed to be somewhat annoyed that his conciliatory tactic hadn’t achieved the desired effect. “I mean… Are you sleeping with her or something?”

The shock made Niall look up and his eyes go buggy. “What? No!”

Louis said, “Whoa,” and even chuckled a little bit. “Alright, alright. Just asking. I mean, you did go all ‘knight-in-shining-armor’ for her and everything. Everyone thinks you are. Just saying.”

“What? Everyone thinks I’m … sleeping with her?”

Louis shrugged as if to say ‘it’s not my fault’ and nodded.

“I’ve only been here a week!” Niall defended.

“Oh, come on! Like you’d need a whole week to bag a chick – especially Hannah Whoreson!”

“Stop. Stop calling her that.”

Louis did stop. He had the sort of glassy-eyed, expressionless look of someone who’d just been slapped with a fish and it was clear he was momentarily at a loss. Niall felt like he was looking under the hood of a car, the gear-shifting in the other boy was so apparent.

“Ok,” Louis said, all the playfulness put to bed. It startled Niall a little bit – he had been anticipating a cocky, brassy retort, but from what he could tell, Louis had taken it to heart and his contrition was sincere. It was attractive in a way that even the mega-watt smile and cavalier attitude couldn’t reach. It made Niall get up from where he’d sat at his desk and sit on the bed next to his friend again.

“It’s just – They were the first people that were nice to me; before everyone found out I was on the footie team.”

Although he hadn’t intended for it to be a pointed dig at Louis, the other boy flinched slightly at the report. Still, he maintained his equilibrium and said, “Ok,” again in that very grounded, available way. Niall suddenly came to wonder if this was the result of having been trained by a girlfriend. He had watched Greg change after he started dating – how the considerate boy had become even more so, and could better navigate the conversations with their mother when she became frazzled.

“I just don’t see why I can’t be friends with you all,” Niall said, shrugging. “You’re the second person to try to explain it to me and… and both times, it’s just sounded—“ ‘Crackers’ was the word that came to mind, but if Louis was willing to meet him in the middle, then Niall could do the same, “—well, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.”

Louis expression was understanding, but tipping precariously toward patronizing. However, when he reached out and squeezed Niall’s shoulder, the whole thing crumbled into a luminous smile of perfect white teeth and pretty pink lips.

“You know what, kid?” He laughed, “Yer alright.”

That set Niall off and they were both snickering at each other, ducked close together like they were sharing a secret. For a moment, Niall felt like Greg was back and all was right with the world.

“Yeah, I don’t like it,” Louis amended, “It’s just the way it is. Hey, you gonna stick up for me the same way if people find out I like musicals?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Niall said through chortles, finding himself wishing the opportunity would arise so he could do just that.

“Yeah, you would,” Louis said warmly, reaching out and rumpling up Niall’s perfectly-gelled hair. Niall would normally be distraught by his perfect quaff going up in a blaze of smoke, but if it meant having Louis’ fingers in his hair, he’d sacrifice the world’s greatest pompadour.

“So, who do you wanna fuck?” Louis asked, and Niall’s world came to a grinding halt.

“What?”

“Well, I mean there’s gotta be somebody you’re hot for. It’d be so easy to hook you up.”

Niall’s brain was stuck on a single answer and he couldn’t for the life of him, unstick it. “It’s—I just—Um..” He was blushing and stammering and there wasn’t a bookshelf at hand in which he could hide himself. His state was apparent to Louis, whose eyebrows went up in surprise. “Whoa. Have you, like, never done it before or something?”

“No, I have!” Niall blurted out, as he tended to do when under pressure. Lying wasn’t something Niall took much pride in, but it certainly felt better than saying, ‘No, my first real kiss was just last night and it was Harry Styles and I still don’t know how to deal with it.’

“Really?” There was a hint of a challenge, there. “With who?”

“She – it was a girl in Ireland. You don’t know her.”

“What’s her name?”

“Patty O’Connor,” Niall replied defensively. That Patty O’Connor was a girl in Ireland was true. But that she was Niall’s girl and that they had ever done anything together was not. The truth was, she was one of Greg’s girlfriends and, of the lot of them, she had been most kind to Niall. It was the closest he’d ever gotten to having a crush on a girl.

To his relief, Louis nodded, satisfied. To his distress, Louis then asked, “Was she good?”

Niall knew this conversation happened all the time between his peers. He’d heard Greg and his friends have it over and over again, but his participation consisted solely of sitting at the far end of the room, his knees tucked up against his chest, hoping he might someday be able to talk about sex as suavely as his brother. Still, for all of his job-shadowing straight boys, Niall didn’t know the words to the sex talk script and all he could stutter out was:

“Well, you know – girls.”

Louis let out a sharp bark of a laugh. “Shit, yeah. I know girls.”

“So, you’ve done it, then?”

One of Louis’ eyebrows went up in saucy disbelief. “Seriously? What do you think?”

It was nearly incomprehensible to Niall that Louis hadn’t had sex – and a lot of it – but he based that solely on his own attraction to the boy and realized that most of what he knew of this person sitting across from him had been contrived in fantasies.

“So,” Niall shrugged, trying to not sound like an idiot, “Lots of sex, then.”

To his credit, Louis genuinely became bashful and he drawled, “Shit,” then shrugged, “Yeah.”

“Not just Eleanor?”

“What?” Louis looked up as if he’d forgotten what they were talking about.

“Not just Eleanor, then? That you’ve—“ he couldn’t bring himself to say ‘fucked’, “had sex with?”

“Naw. A lot of other girls.”

“From school?”

“There – round abouts.”

Louis seemed to have lost interest in the conversation now that he was spilling gossip instead of reaping it and he was picking at his cuticles as if they held the key to the universe. It was clear to Niall that his mind had caught on some small perturbance and was worrying it much like one might tongue a split lip. It looked more painful than productive and as much as Niall was dying to know what it was that was tying his new friend in such knots, he wanted more to relieve it. So he said, “Vous avez yeux bleus et cheveux bruns.”

Relief washed over Louis’ face when he lifted it and his smile broke through the clouds of thought. “That’s good!” he chirped, the exciting, charismatic spirit reawakened in him. “I wanna use that! What does it mean?”

Niall laughed out loud – the wild, brazen donkey hee-haw that he had been spending years trying to train away. He wanted to have a sophisticated chuckle, the kind movie stars like George Clooney had, but when he was really tickled, he couldn’t stop himself from letting loose like a mad barnyard.

Louis didn’t seem to mind; instead, he seemed to find it hysterical and he erupted with his own brand of reckless, youthful laughter, although his didn’t sound half so equine as Niall’s. Instead of being embarrassed for once, Niall found himself extremely happy.

~*~

Like most people who find themselves in Paradise, Niall wasn’t entirely certain how he had gotten there. But here he was, Louis’ bare foot in his lap, while the rest of him was splashed out on Niall’s bed like he belonged there, jovially chittering in some of the most bungled French Niall had ever heard in his life.

If pressed to recall how it all came to pass, Niall might deduce that it really came together when Louis reached for his notebook and torqued his already fragile ankle. Niall then, in a stroke of genius, had offered to get him some ice and hey, maybe it would ease the pain and facilitate healing if Niall massaged it a bit? Louis looked as innocently elated as a child at Christmas and eagerly unstrapped the brace before chucking it harum-scarum into the corner. But when he pushed his foot into Niall’s hand, somehow he looked almost as shy and grateful as Niall was.

Remarkably, the top of Louis’ finely-boned foot was just as tan as the rest of him, even after having been smothered under a brace for the past week. It was rather hard to keep hold of as well, the way Louis kept tapping his feet as if there was a tune playing that only he could hear.

“So,” Louis said, chewing on his pencil as he stared at the few words he’d scribbled down in his notebook. “How do you say ‘I’m short, but dead sexy’ in French?”

Thankfully, having spent over an hour in this position with Louis, touching him and acclimating to his constant and natural inclination toward flirting, Niall’s propensity for blushing seemed to have short circuited. Of course, he was flushed from the moment he took hold of Louis’ foot, so any further blood rushing to his face would have just been redundant.

“Um,” Niall chortled, trying to concentrate both on French and the feeling of Louis’ little toe between his fingers, “Je suis petit, mais… tres sexy.”

“No way!” Louis flung his notebook into his lap with a snicker. “They don’t say ‘sexy’, do they?”

Niall shrugged, “Yeah.”

“So they’ve been speaking English over there all along? Can I give up on this stupid assignment because they speak English in France? We’re free!”

The notebook went up in a flutter of white and Louis looked like he might start making snow angels on the bed. Niall’s hee-haw was on full display again, but he managed to cackle out, “No, they still speak French! It’s just certain words made it over.”

This did not please Louis Tomlinson. He stuck the eraser-end of the pencil in his mouth again and pouted, “Well, that sucks. What would the French say that sounds like I know French – in French?”

Thinking about it, Niall chewed on his lip, digging the pad of his thumb just under the bone of Louis’ ankle, “Say ‘Je suis un beau morceau.’”

They sat and shared a grin for a second.

“What does that mean?”

Immediately, the foot in his hand became more interesting to Niall than sharing that grin. He felt completely incapable of saying the words. His mind was screaming ‘handsome morsel’ on endless loop, but the words caught in his throat and all he could do was sit there, gingerly tracing his thumbs over the still-swollen and damaged flesh of Louis’ ankle.

It was quiet between them, and Niall had learned that silences with Louis were rare. He was relieved when the other boy seemed to forget about the French and Niall could just concentrate on being gentle around Louis’ bruises.

“Ghn. That feels good.”

Before he could stop himself, Niall’s eyes popped up, scouring Louis’ face to see if it reflected any of the sultriness of his voice. It certainly did; Louis looked like a very happy, very relaxed cat, blinking decadently and smiling a mysterious smile, but Niall had no way of knowing whether it was intended to be as erotic as Niall took it.

Niall’s breathing became shallow and he returned to his work, his heart in his throat as he let his hand slip higher up Louis’ ankle, past the bruise, to cradle the swell of his rocky calf.

He felt Louis start to lean forward, but whether it was to grab Niall closer, shove him off, or something else entirely, he would never know because there was a curt knock on the door and Mrs. Horan poked her head in.

“Hi!” she whisper/giggled with the over-animation generally reserved for children’s television programming, “I hope you boys don’t mind me checking in! I was going to make supper – Niall, you invited Louis for supper, right?”

Niall, after swiftly dropping his hand from Louis’ leg back to his foot, gawped at his mother openly. Not only was her timing abysmal, but the new house had yet to be christened with a single Horan family supper, and it had been a good year before that that the Horan family had even sat together at a table for more than a matter of minutes.

Before he could gather himself enough to speak, however, Louis piped up with. “Gosh, Mrs. Horan, that sounds great! We might have to leave a bit early, though. I promised Niall I’d introduce him to some of my friends tonight.”

It was almost as if Louis had read the textbook to Maura’s very soul and recited the spell to unlock her heart. She stepped into the room slightly and began to fiddle giddily with the upper most opal button of her shirt.

“Are you – Are you taking Niall to a party?” she asked, her bright blue eyes blinking reflexively.

“Yep!” Louis said, sensing he was on the right path and milking it for all he was worth. “Just a couple of the kids I know from school; we all met in AP classes.”

“I’m sorry, love, I’m new, still – AP classes?”

“Advanced placement.”

“Really? Captain of the footie team and in advanced classes?”

Niall had to look away; his mother’s eyes were so full of admiration and obvious sycophancy, Niall felt sick at the thought that it might resemble his own face when he looked at Louis. He risked locking eyes with the other boy, and in response, Louis dug his toes into Niall’s hand like a comradely podo-handshake.

“Well,” Louis shrugged demurely, “I do my best. Niall’s helping me with French. He’s very good at it.”

“Are you?” Maura turned to him and the genuineness of her surprise was disheartening.

“Yeah, mam,” Niall replied, trying to not let his surliness show.

“And will there be girls at this party?” She said this with a little wink to her son as if she was doing him a big favor. Niall just wanted to die, especially when Louis joined in.

“Nice girls. I’m sure Niall will have his pick.”

“Nice girls, Niall,” his mother said solicitously, “Maybe you can finally get yourself a girlfriend! Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Hey, Mrs. Horan –“ Louis to the rescue again.

“Maura, please,” Maura, on the offensive again.

“Maura,” Louis smiled. “Would it be cool if Niall borrowed the car tonight?”

Two sets of surprised Horan eyes swung over to him.

“Borrow the car--?” Mrs. Horan looked bewildered.

“I can’t drive,” Master Horan explained.

For a moment, it looked like Louis had lost control of things. He blinked at them owlishly and said, “What?”

“I don’t have a license. We don’t drive til 18 in Ireland.”

“Well, then, how are we going to get to the party?”

“Well, I’ll happily drive you, boys!” Maura offered, but immediately, those addressed turned to her and said, variously, “No! Thank you! That’s alright! Thanks, though! We’ll figure something out!”

She pressed the issue once more, but was again drowned out in candy-sweet refusals. It was clear that she was loitering, probably even wishing to curl up on the bed with them and relive some of her fondest memories, but even she had to admit that there was no further excuse for her to linger awkwardly.

“Well,” she said dearly, “Supper’s ready in about an hour. See you then!” Then, with one last twinkly-eyed smile to Louis, she slipped out the door.

Almost before Niall had time to turn around, Louis yelped, “No car?” And anything that may have been building between them – of which Niall was still entirely uncertain – dissolved.

“Well, no.”

“How did you think we were getting to Natalie’s?”

“I didn’t--! I didn’t… think.”

And that was the sad truth of it. When enduring a state of mental upheaval and emotional turmoil, things like transportation to parties can fall through the cracks.

Louis let out a bi-tonal groan and said, “Niall!” in a way that made Niall feel lower than when his parents did the same. The effect must’ve been decipherable on Niall’s face, because Louis relented immediately and said, “Well, how do you get around?”

“Zayn drives me. Or I use my dad’s bike. Can’t we get that girl who dropped you off to take us there?”

“No,” Louis sighed, “That was my sister – she has archery practice til ten.”

“Oh. She was pretty.”

“Hands off.”

Louis Tomlinson considered the options.

“Bike it is, then.”

“What?”

“Or you want to drive to a party with your mom?”

The look on Niall’s face said it all.

“Bike it is.”

“Bike it is.”


	10. Part the Next Part IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult! I would love to know what you think and I would really love to know what you want to see happen next!

PART THE NEXT

Niall was under the impression he was in for a crazy night, if only to judge by Louis’ recklessness when he was completely sober. He was currently sitting on the handlebars of Niall’s dad’s bike, crutches clutched against his chest and his injured leg kicked out in front of him. He was screaming, “Don’t knock my leg on something! Don’t knock my leg on something!” but laughing wildly and swinging his brace around as if what he was truly aiming for was for Niall to knock his leg on something.

They were both full and stupid on the truckload of carbohydrates Mrs. Horan dumped into them and Niall was giddy as hell to have a night out with his beloved and Louis was giddy as hell because he seemed to be that way naturally.

Steering was hard with 11 st. of boy blocking his line of sight, so Niall stood up on the pedals and rested his chin on Louis’ shoulder. The other boy exuberantly flung his free arm up around Niall’s neck and howled in a way that doubtlessly woke everyone in the residential block they were now traversing.

“You’ll get the cops called on us!” Niall said, every inch of him laughing and not caring.

“Fuck the cops! They can’t bring me down!” Louis screamed into the night and Niall had to wonder if maybe, under the influence of alcohol, Louis might actually mellow out. Not that he wanted him to – with Louis at the helm, Niall was quite certain he could take over the world. It brought out an abandon that Niall didn’t know he had and instead of taking Holloway Drive all the way to where it intersected with Bison Street, Niall cut through the skate park, determined to show off a little bit.

“Aaaawwww, shit!” Louis was kicking his feet in excitement when he realized where they were going. Niall knew it was stupid, but he was juiced in a brand new way, teenage infatuation making him invulnerable and deathless.

They both screamed like berserkers as Niall hurled them at the first quarter pipe and it was while they were in mid-air that Niall realized he’d hit it far too fast. When they landed, the bike skidded with a high-pitched, skid mark-depositing fishtail, and Louis almost dropped both of his crutches. However, the gods were merciful and Niall managed to keep them upright.

Niall’s heart was pounding in his chest; the possibility of both of them getting horribly injured and having to deal with the nightmare that was the American health care system flashed before his eyes, but Louis was raucous with laughter.

“You alright?” Niall asked him, despite the obvious.

“I’m gonna have the biggest, blackest bruise on my ass tomorrow morning!” Louis chortled, pawing at where he’d landed awkwardly on the handle bars. “Do it again!”

Niall wasn’t stupid enough to send them launching through space like that again, but damned if he wasn’t going to make the boy of his dreams squeal in euphoric abandon, any way he could. He steered clear of the half pipes and grind rails, but the skate park was designed with a bowl and Niall eagerly dropped into it. After the initial plummet, he churned his thighs and whipped the bike around its circumference until even Louis was giggling pathetically, “Alright, alright, alright, stop! I’m gonna throw up!”

By this time, Niall had worked up quite a lovely sweat and was panting like an overworked ox. With great dexterity, he brought the bike back up to level ground and let his feet touch pavement so he could catch his breath.

“You really gonna throw up?” Niall asked, dropping his forehead onto the flat, hard plane of Louis’ back and wondering if anyone’s life anywhere could possibly be more perfect.

“Maybe,” Louis laughed, “It’d be a shame to upchuck all your mom’s pasta.”

Niall snorted and shook his head and Louis must have felt it on his back because he said, “What? It was good. Your mom’s nice!”

“My mom’s nice?” Niall asked, lifting his head and looking at the back of Louis’ in consternation. Louis turned to frown at him, “Yeah! She is!”

“You’re just saying that because you had her wrapped around your little finger,” Niall smiled, bringing his face closer to Louis’ as he mounted his bike again.

“Because she’s _nice_!” Louis insisted again, “Not all my friend’s moms are nice. Wait til you meet Mrs. Payne.” Niall had absolutely no intention of meeting Mrs. Payne, unless it was at a court hearing where both her sons were getting hauled off to the clink.

Niall pushed down hard into his right hip to get the bike moving again and said, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis said, readjusting himself on the handlebars that must’ve been torturously uncomfortable at that point. “She’s like, uh… What’s her name? What’s Harry Potter’s aunt’s name?”

“I don’t know,” Niall snickered.

“What? You’re English, how can you not know?”

“For one,” Niall said, “I’m Irish, and for two, just because I’m from Eire doesn’t mean I know anything about Harry Potter.”

“You’re from _what_?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Anyway, she’s like her. One stone cold bitch. No matter how much charm I lay on, she’s just – she won’t have it.”

What sprung into Niall’s head was the question ‘is that why Liam’s such a dick?’ but he caught it before it left his mouth. Liam was Louis’ friend, presumably, and Niall was having such a lovely time, he would hate to spoil it by turning their conversation to conflict.

“Are you two close?”

“No! She’s a nasty piece of work!”

“No!” Why did everything Louis say make Niall laugh? “No, I mean you and Liam!”

“Oh, yeah,” Louis said, “He’s one of my best friends, during the school year – Oh, shit, are we really doing this?”

Niall’s curiosity was immediately sparked by the phrase ‘during the school year’ but he didn’t get a chance to address it because they were nearing the two flights of stairs that lead from the park back down to the street.

“Yep, we’re really doing this,” Niall smiled, adoring the way Louis looped his free arm around Niall’s and clung to his shoulder. The urge to lean down and kiss his neck was swiftly overwhelming him, so to thwart it, he tipped the bike downward over the steps and let gravity take its course.

~*~

By the time they arrived at Natalie Plympton’s house, the party was already in full swing. The ‘thump-thump-thump’ of the bass was audible before they’d even turned down the street on which the Plympton house was at the end.

It was a beautiful example of architecture; it reigned at the end of a cul-de-sac that was, if seen from a higher perspective, actually a peninsula that jutted into the middle of a man-made lake. That it was man-made did nothing to besmirch its beauty.

The house itself was large, but not ostentatiously so, and in a style that, to Niall’s eye, looked like a classier version of a wood cabin. The lawn up the front drive would have been truly handsome if it weren’t for that it was presently littered with red plastic cups, beer bottles, limp streamers and a handful of under-age high school kids.

“Hey, everybody!” Louis screamed as Niall huffed behind him, ready to never use man-powered locomotion again in his life. Everyone on the lawn (and a few people in the house) hallooed back at him, sounding his name. The only other time Niall had ever seen any one person get such a warm reception was when Greg appeared at family functions.

Louis indecorously tumbled from the handlebars, but no one present was about to let him fall. Before Niall could even get off the bike, two seniors, one boy and one girl Niall had never been introduced to, had Louis by the armpits and were helping him get his crutches under himself.

“Thanks!” Louis beamed, before reaching out to grab Niall’s shirt before he could go put his bike in the garage. “Niall! This is Lacey Bhatnagar and Anders Blakely,” then he leaned in and stage whispered, “Principal’s kid.”

Anders, a droopy-faced chap who looked like he’d been hitting the bong since noon, nodded at Niall slowly. “You’re the new kid? Scottish, right?”

“Irish,” Niall said, although it was pretty clear Anders wasn’t interested.

“Natalie said if you weren’t coming, she was going to throw her stereo into the pool,” Lacey said, gesturing presumably in the direction of the pool with her red, plastic cup and nearly sloshing something pink and sticky all over Niall’s shoes.

“Uh – what?”

“I think she’s into you,” Anders said and Louis gave Niall quite the promising look of lechery.

“I’ve never met her!” Niall protested boldly.

“So?” Anders curled his lip. “She’s seen you around.”

“She just wants to steal you away from Hannah Whoresen,” Lacey cackled as if all present were in on the joke. Niall went notably silent. It was no small matter to correct Louis when it was just the two of them alone in his home turf, so here at a thriving party where everyone was posing and competing, he didn’t feel comfortable making himself a target.

He was wholly prepared to bow out from the conversation and find anywhere else to be, when he heard Louis say resolutely beside him, “Hey, don’t call her that, alright? Not cool.”

Anders let out a half-snort, half-bark and said, “Yeah, right, man! You call her that all the time!”

“Yeah,” Lacey was sneering now, too. “In fact, didn’t you make it up?”

Niall couldn’t believe his ears. The only person who had ever stood up for him in his entire life was Greg, and even then, it was usually out of sympathy.

“For the record,” Louis said civilly, “No, I did not. And I’m gonna stop calling her that and so should you.”

To put a fine point on the conversation, Louis dismissed them with a turn of the head and said to Niall, “I’m gonna go talk to Skylar over there; go put your bike in the garage and I’ll meet you inside, yeah?”

“Sure,” Niall said, the butterflies in his stomach going berserk at how domestic Louis was being with him. Louis’ farewell was one of those winning smiles and then he clomped up the slight incline to another group of peers.

 _It’s amazing how even when crippled and forced to move so awkwardly,_ Niall’s inner narrator was commenting, _my boyfriend is still so dignified._

Oh, Jesus.

Niall actually stopped dead in his tracks from where he was walking his bike down the little cobbled lane to the garage. Did he actually just refer to Louis as ‘his boyfriend’? There was no mistaking it, he most certainly did – he heard himself loud and clear.

As if he could actually shake the notion out of his mind, Niall waggled his head back and forth and blinked. It wasn’t a mistake he could afford to make, both in terms of what he might accidentally say, but also in the extent to which his heart would shatter when the inevitable proof of Louis’ straightness became apparent.

This sobered him up quite a bit and it was with due solemnity that he tucked his bike into the corner of the garage. His bicycle was to be kept company by two cars and a motorcycle – the motorcycle was a mystery to Niall, but he did recognize what looked like a Lexus and a 1967 VW Beetle. The Lexus, while a pretty machine, was terribly uninteresting when compared to its bunkmate. It was baby blue and just as nice and precise as the day it rolled off the factory floor – or so Niall imagined. His thoughts immediately turned to Zayn and how much he wished he could see it. But apparently Zayn wasn’t allowed to be at places like this, which was both baffling and infuriating to Niall. He took another look out into the lawn and saw a whole bunch of school kids who wore jeans and shirts and shoes with socks under them just like Zayn Malik did. But apparently Zayn’s jeans and shirts and shoes with socks under them were in some way inferior – Niall had yet to determine why this was so.

The ‘thump-thump-thump’ of the stereo was louder in the garage, but the song was no more distinguishable than it had been in the street. Niall went toward it, opening the door to the house and stepping into the noise.

He was in a kitchen. It was a very nice kitchen and Niall’s heart pined for that much counter space in a kitchen of his own one day, but that counter space was presently packed with teenagers. There were what looked like beers stuffed in ice in the sink and Emily James, who Niall could tell you from his Algebra class had too much personality, was standing on the island, swinging about bottles of hard liquor and daring everyone to name a drink she couldn’t make. Dean Ross was holding her hips, making sure she didn’t spill forward onto the shiny rosewood floor and not looking too certain he was up for the task. It made Niall smile.

From here, he could see a hallway that looked like it splintered into several sundry rooms, and a stairway that, while not grand, was certainly impressive with its beautiful interlocking joints. He could hear another knot of students on the other side of it and, hoping to find Louis there, he bounded in that direction.

What he ran into was not Louis, but a stone wall of Payne. Liam Payne, in particular, who was scowling down at whatever twerp was audacious enough to ram him.

“Sorry. Hi,” Niall said reflexively, staring up at him and wondering if it wouldn’t be prudent to make himself as big as possible and slowly back away.

“Hi,” Liam replied after giving Niall a once-over as if to assure himself that yes, Niall Horan really was that small and squishable. “What’re you doing here?”

“Um. Louis brought me,” Niall said, sorely hoping that name dropping might encourage some good behavior out of the other boy. “Who did you come with?” As if idle chitchat was normal between them.

“My brother.”

The answer Niall was dreading.

“Oh, yeah? How’s—How’s he?” Politeness was going to get him killed one day.

“How the fuck do you think he is?”

Niall hated the way that Liam squared off with him in exactly the manner Mr. Horan would approve of. “You see, Niall,” Bobby would say if he could see them now, “You see how he isn’t afraid to face you straight on? Steady on his feet, shoulders perfectly parallel, like a real man?” And it was true that Liam made an impeccable wall of Troy, and Niall was certainly no Odysseus to get past him.

“Look, Liam,” Niall started, wishing like hell he’d let Emily James make him something stiff before he came into this room. “Look,” he said again, trying to gather a comprehensive thought, “We’re gonna be teammates, you know--?”

That was as far as he got before a force, with momentum greater than Liam’s solidarity, hit him in the shoulder and made him falter a little bit. John Rosenfeld, blonde Jew-fro even more of a bird’s nest than usual, appeared over Liam’s shoulder, landing a few more brotherly smacks before he took Liam by the neck and gave him a rousing shake.

“Lookit this!” he said, in that voice a few octaves too deep for someone who hadn’t graduated yet, “The team’s all here!”

He pulled Niall in with his other arm, tucking him into his armpit in what seemed to be his signature greeting with anyone smaller than him. Niall didn’t mind – it was safer there.

“You just get here?” Liam asked.

“Yeee-up,” John replied. “Me an’ Ed an’ Sam. And now, look! Niall!”

He gave the Irishman another face-smashing squeeze, but Niall could only be relieved. When John let him up, Niall straightened out his hair and pointedly avoided looking at the expression on Liam’s face when he said, “John, you can’t seriously fucking be ok with this asshole on the team and not Carey – or at least, Ed! I mean – fucking _Ed_ , man, you gotta be pissed!”

“Look,” John said with a far greater laissez-faire than Niall could ever accomplish, “I’m cool with everybody. You know why? Cause we’re at a party and right now, everything’s cool. So just be cool, man, ok?”

Liam’s face was long with mulish disapproval. “This is why you’ll never be captain.”

“I’ll never be captain because the coach is in love with Tomlinson. But fuck you, anyway,” John tagged on jovially, then: “I wanna see if it’s true what they say about the Irish and drinking!”

Before Niall could so much as yelp, John had hold of him again and was dragging him through the house by the head. “Do not let Payne get to you,” John yelled over the music. “He’s not a bad guy, he’s just stressed out. Don’t worry, he’ll pull his head out of his ass eventually, everything’ll be fine!”

When Niall had control of his own head again, he found himself in the backyard and it was dazzling. There was a swimming pool that was aglow with an interior lighting system and a hot tub that had worked itself up into a steaming froth that lapped at the bare skin of several party goers who had foresight enough to bring swimwear. Baby aspen trees with white, twinkling lights strung between them lined a cobblestone path that led out to the lake which glistened with an alluring, inky blackness.

“Whoa,” Niall said, as he dumbly followed after his larger friend.

“Yeah,” John agreed, knowing exactly what Niall was talking about, “Natalie’s lucky – her parents go away a lot and she has a perfect party house.”

“I wish my parents went away a lot.”

“Don’t we all. Keg’s over here.”

And surrounding the keg were Sam and Ed, and a few kids whose faces Niall knew he had passed in the halls. There was a ‘hey, buddy!’ from each of them and Niall gave them both high-fives which was still charming and new to him.

“So,” Sam was saying as Ed handed him red, plastic cups, which were subsequently filled, “Here’s the low-down on this: This beer is actually pretty good, cause Natalie bought it, but don’t get your hopes up because it’s still American swill – just the best of American swill.”

Niall was grateful for the warning. Sam continued, “So, first one, you gotta just pound it, ok? I mean, knock that fucker back, or you’ll be here all night.”

“And remember,” Ed said helpfully, lifting a finger, “Beer before liquor, never been sicker; liquor before beer, you’re in the clear.”

“Yeah,” John threw in, “But that’s not true, though. I mix like a mother.”

“Guys, he’s from Ireland,” Sam pointed out, like they were both idiots. “He knows how to drink!”

Niall smiled a little bit. He neither confirmed nor denied it, but the truth was, he certainly didn’t think he’d be drinking anyone under the table. He wasn’t yet of legal drinking age in Ireland and his brother had only once snuck him into a pub, so he certainly was no professional.

“Ok!” John said, once they all had cups full of frothy, golden sluice, “Here’s to… Uh, here’s to Puma pride!” That got a listless response from Ed and a half-snort from Sam. It took Niall a second to remember why they were talking about cats. “No?” John studied his audience. “Ok, how’s this: Here’s to getting as far the fuck away from here the second we all graduate?”

That got the response he was looking for. All the beers went up into the air in boisterous salutation and then the four young men tipped their heads back and dumped the alcohol down their throats as fast as they could, for fear of coming in last and getting called girly. Much to Niall’s relief, it was Ed who choked a little bit and John gave him a few solid thumps on the back until he coughed it up. The stuff certainly lived up to the reputation of American beer, but Niall knew this evening’s drinking wasn’t about artistry as much as it was about efficiency. Niall discovered pounding a beer back didn’t make him immediately drunk, but it did make him want to belch like a bullfrog.

“Oh, great,” Sam said under his breath and gesturing toward the door. “Kennedy’s here.”

Despite not having any idea to whom Sam was referring, Niall looked over to where there were new arrivals filtering in through the beautiful, flung-open French double doors. One among them was certainly more noteworthy than the others and surely, this was Kennedy. Wearing a t-shirt that read “I hope you have pet insurance because I’m about to destroy your pussy” that was only somewhat obscured by the blue and green plaid shirt he left unbuttoned over it, was a tall, skinny boy with a Bud Lite box stuffed over his black, wavy hair.

“YEAH!” he roared in a way he probably supposed was similar to Louis’ entrance on the front lawn, but was met with people turning their backs instead of exploding in fanfare.

“Hurry,” Ed said stiffly, grabbing for the cups. “Soon as he finds the keg, it’ll be empty. Gimme those!”

As Ed was fervently pouring the second round, Niall was wracking his brain for where he’d heard the name ‘Kennedy’ before. It was an unusual name so he remembered having heard it, but he couldn’t properly place it.

“Is there even Bud Lite here?” Sam asked, scrutinizing Kennedy’s headwear as the obnoxious party ambled over to the hot tub and intentionally spilled some drinks into the water.

“No,” John replied.

Sam’s nose wrinkled up in disapproval. “So he stuck that thing on his head at home and wore it over here?”

“Probably.”

“I hate this guy.”

~*~

Second beer in hand and already half consumed, Niall recalled his promise to meet with Louis inside the house. He ambled that way, noticing the traffic had become thicker and rowdier. Once through the French double doors, he found himself in a living area with a cozy looking ‘L’ shaped sofa and a plasma flatscreen on the wall that was playing music videos on mute. The party goers had fully infested this part of the house and they stood or sat in clumps around the room like tiny, island nations. As Niall stood in the dead center of all of them and sought for anything slightly Louis-shaped, two giggling girls from his English class bumbled against him and almost made him spill his drink.

“Sorry, Niall,” one of them apologized dreamily.

“Oh, Natalie’s looking for you,” said the other one and before Niall could ask them what Natalie even looked like so he could distinguish her from everyone else here, the girls folded back in on each other, gossiping as a single mass as they moved into the hall.

“Niall!”

That could have come from anywhere. It sounded like a female voice and the only female person Niall could imagine calling for him was Hannah and he really couldn’t imagine her showing up at this juncture. But the lighting was dangerously bad and no matter how fiercely he peered, he didn’t see anyone he recognized.

“Niall!”

There it was again. Squinting like Mr. Magoo, Niall wandered a little bit, checking out each clique of students and vaguely wondering if perhaps the alcohol was giving him audial hallucinations. He was tipsy at worst, so he threw back the second half of his beer to see if it made matters better.

“Niall Horan!”

Whoever it was had clearly cupped her hands around her mouth to better channel her soundwaves to his ear, so Niall started looking for anyone with her hands on her face. There was one girl, brunette and pretty, sitting on the sofa, eyes trained on him, her hands in a makeshift megaphone, but Niall didn’t – oh. It was Eleanor, his consciously enforced blind spot.

“Hi,” he said. She smiled at him, her face like the first breath of spring, and patted the sofa cushion next to her, inviting him to sit. Of course, Niall did not want to sit, but his brother trained him not to be an asshole if it could be avoided, and he sat next to her, giving her a thin, self-conscious smile.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, having intuition enough to not attempt a hug, but making him warm to her despite himself by giving him a brief squeeze of the hand. “I know how it can be to move to a new school. I can only imagine what it must be like to move to a new country.”

Niall nodded again, his mouth still penciled into that vapid, meaningless curvy line. “Yep,” he said, wracking his brains for something to say and, for the life of him, coming up absolutely empty.

“Want this?” Upon noticing Niall’s red plastic cup was empty, Eleanor produced a cold Flat Tire and offered it to him. If this girl wasn’t perfect enough, she was pulling beers out of her ass.

“Jesus, it’s irritating how perfect you are,” Niall said, smiling for real this time and reaching for the offered beverage. It was Eleanor whose smile went a bit squiggly. “Is that a compliment?” she asked.

“Yep,” Niall said, “You got a bottle opener up there?”

“Up where?”

‘Up your arse’ was what Niall wanted to say, because clearly, that was where she’d gotten the beer. However, what he said was, “Um, from where ever you got the beer…”

She still looked at him uncertainly before leaning over and lifting a bottle opener off the floor by her feet – oh. So that’s where she got it.

“I was saving it for Louis, but—“ she looked forlornly out the window that provided a view to the front of the house, “Well, you know Louis.”

Following her line of sight, Niall could see Louis through the glass in the front yard, charming a small gathering. Niall watched him for a moment, fumbling with the bottle opener. One of the girls from Niall’s first hour – Nadja Haines, the girl with the dreadlocks – was covertly palming something over to Louis, which made him smile knowingly at her. Eleanor made a noise that wasn’t entirely unlike the noise his mother made when a sex scene came on the television during family viewing.

Niall had no idea what the exchange was about, but as soon as he got the bottle cap off his beer, he chucked it as hard as he could at the window. This scandalized Eleanor a little bit (she said something like ‘Tsch! Niall!’ and grabbed his arm) but it did the trick in getting the attention of those outside.

Louis had clearly gotten lost in a fog of pleasurable socializing, since as soon as he saw Niall giving him ‘What the fuck?’ hands through the window, he immediately looked a little sheepish and started to totter inside.

“You have to watch Louis,” Eleanor said with a sigh. “He gets in all kinds of trouble; I lost sight of him for – I swear to God – two minutes last time we were here and next thing I know, he’s gone and broken himself.”

“Bit like a toddler?” Niall grinned.

“A very impressionable toddler,” Eleanor grimaced.

“Don’t look at me, I won’t be a good influence on him.”

“And he won’t be one on you,” Eleanor said, her gaze a bit too level for Niall’s liking.

“Hey, guys!” The arrhythmic sound of a boy on crutches interrupted them.

“Louis, did you—“

“Oh, my god!” Louis yelped, pretending to lose his balance as he wobbled forward, “Oh, no! It’s these damned crutches, I can’t seem to keep myself up! I’m going to – OH NO!” Then, with obvious intentionality, he dropped his crutches and face-planted into Eleanor’s lap, the rest of him splashing out over Niall.

Niall was laughing so hard he nearly upended his own beer and Eleanor was giggling despite herself.

“Come here, you mess,” Eleanor cooed, gathering him up in her arms so they could share a fond kiss. In response, Niall tipped his beer down his throat and didn’t stop until the smacking sounds next to him abated. By the time it was over, Niall had less than a quarter of a beer left.

“I think I’ll go get another one,” Niall said, waggling the empty at the couple making dewy eyes at each other and using it as an excuse to make a getaway. He was in the process of getting Louis’ hips off him, when the boy sat up, effectively pinning him with all his weight.

“Hey, Niall!” Louis said, wrapping an arm around Niall’s neck and secluding them from Eleanor. “I’m gonna go meet Nadja in the basement – you wanna?” In his hand, Louis held a rolled up plastic baggie, which he wiggled at Niall, much as Niall had wiggled his beer. Initially, Niall didn’t know what it was, but when he heard Eleanor groan, “Oh, Louis, come on—You just got here!” it all became clear.

Louis rolled his eyes where his girlfriend couldn’t see and said to Niall, “Whaddya say? Help a cripple get high?”

Marijuana wasn’t new to him. Back in Ireland, Greg had friends that liked to smoke weed during film nights. They would be watching something – usually some horror flick that the Horan’s wouldn’t have approved of their children consuming had they been home – and then Sean and Pete would disappear into the back yard and shortly thereafter, everything smelled of skunk. Niall had never tried it, himself. Of course, as the obnoxious younger brother who didn’t have any friends of his own, he was never invited to partake – not that he would have, even if given the opportunity; he had seen his brother politely refuse every joint ever passed him, and Greg was the shape and mould from which Niall wished to pattern himself.

However, Greg wasn’t here and Louis Tomlinson was sitting in his god damn lap.

“Yeah,” Niall said, curling an arm around Louis’ slender waist as he helped him to his feet. The crutches were well within reach, but when Niall made to take hold of them, Louis clung to his shoulder and said, “No, no, no! I don’t want those things slowing me down tonight!”

“How are you gonna get around?” Niall asked, feeling the alcohol hit him as he rose.

“With a little help from my friends,” Louis replied, locking an arm around Niall’s neck and smiling right in his face. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

Tipsy, Niall could graciously receive compliments from his crush in a way he couldn’t when sober. “I’m glad you’re my friend, too!” Niall cheered, lifting Louis into his arm and doing a half-pirouette to the sound of ‘utz utz utz’ coming from the speakers. It was a precarious venture with Niall being inebriated as he was and upon Louis’ landing, the two boys clung to each other, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“Beers first,” Louis laughed softly, “I gotta catch up with you.”

“Good luck!” Niall snorted.

Before they left, Niall snuck a glance at Eleanor on the sofa. She looked even smaller than she usually did and she didn’t look so much lonely as much as she just looked tired. As she resignedly cracked the bottle cap off her beer, Niall felt momentarily regretful for so aggressively and futilely trying to steal her boyfriend. Then she caught him looking and gave him a lopsided smile. “Take care of him,” she said, saluting him with her beer.

Niall nodded, giving her a wink, since he had no beer to raise in turn.

Shortly, however, he was restocked on alcohol and trying desperately not to spill it as he helped Louis down the stairs and Louis tried to down all of his beer by the time they reached the bottom.

The basement was a teenager’s paradise. Centered in the large room was a pool table that was already teeming with drunks. On the far wall were four arcade cabinets that a handful of girls were currently lording over. One of the walls was lined with mirrors and directly before it was a full bar, behind which a beautiful woman with long black hair, caramel skin and green eyes presided. For a moment, Niall thought she had to have been someone’s older sister – she was so tall and the makeup she wore gave her face severe angles. But when she took the Crown Royal off the top shelf and said coyly to her friend, “My parents haven’t even noticed that half of this is gone,” Niall knew she was none other than Natalie Plympton.

“There!” Louis commanded, directing them past where people were playing darts and to a secluded corner with two cozy couches, one purple, one red, both shaped like lips. Nadja Haines was there, licking her first joint closed before she blinked up at them with watery blue eyes and saying in her manly, comforting voice, “Louis, man, you’re gonna love this shit.”

“You know Niall,” Louis said, waggling a finger at his human crutch before he slipped free of him and flopped on the red sofa next to Nadja. Niall courteously sat across from them, displeased by the distance between him and Louis, but grateful to have such a good view of him.

“Yeah,” Nadja nodded, “First hour, right?”

“Yeah.”

Niall was anxious about this whole weed business. He didn’t know how it was going to affect him and the last thing he wanted was to make an ass out of himself at a cool kids party. He’d had a puff off a normal nicotine cigarette once and he’d nearly disgorged his entire respiratory system trying to cough it out.

“You ever done this before?” Nadja asked, as if reading his mind.

The impulse to lie was on him again, but suddenly recalling how dishonorable he felt after having bluffed off his virginity, Niall girded his loins for ridicule and reported, “No.”

Much to his surprise, Nadja bobbed her head in utter indifference. It was Louis who was impressed and grinned roguishly, “We get to corrupt him.”

“Whatever, man, it’s just weed,” Nadja countered, riding her perpetual mellow. Her hands were dexterous and steady as she held the joint to her lips and sparked the lighter to life. The subsequent smell was exactly what Niall remembered and it took him back to Ireland for a moment.

“You got something better to corrupt him with?” Louis leaned in and Niall sensed that, despite his cartoonish smile, he genuinely wanted a little something harder.

Nadja was unshakable. “I have shrooms, but I left them at home,” she said, still holding her hit. She passed the joint to Louis, but Louis beckoned Niall over and they met in the middle, leaning in on their knees.

“Ok, here’s what you do,” he said, putting the hot paper between Niall’s fingers. “It’s kinda like a cigarette, but it doesn’t stay lit and you have to hold it in, ok?”

As he said it, Nadja exhaled slowly, the dry heat of it making Niall’s skin tighten and his eyes burn. Carefully, fearful he would drop it or do something stupid, Niall put the joint between his lips. It was wet from Nadja’s mouth and it tasted strange.

“Ready?” Louis asked, leaning forward with the lighter. At Niall’s nod, Louis flicked forth a flame and said, “Suck, baby.”

Well, shit.

That Niall didn’t choke was a miracle, but that may have been because Niall wasn’t envisioning a joint between his lips so much as something else. And as long as Louis was going to keep staring at his mouth, Niall was going to keep sucking.

“Fuck, man,” Louis laughed, “Take it easy.”

Taking that as his cue to back off, Niall handed the joint over to Louis, who was saying, “Now hold it as long as you can.”

Niall’s throat was burning and his eyes were watering and he wanted to cough or choke, but he did as Louis said and watched as the other boy took a hit, looking beautiful and ethereal through the smoke that was a sticky cloud between them.

Then Niall and Louis were holding their breaths, watching each other. Eventually, Louis smiled and let his eyes fall closed blissfully as he let the smoke billow out from between his soft, pouting lips. Niall did the same, measuring it out to be empty with Louis at the exact same time. The other boy’s face had gone slack as he concentrated and Niall couldn’t stop staring at him and the way his beautiful long lashes graced his high cheekbones.

When he had crushed the last of the air out of his lungs, Niall closed his eyes and tried to determine if anything was different. Drunk – he was just drunk and feeling the pain of a scorched throat and lungs. He suspected that it hadn’t worked.

He was about to inquire after what he should expect when suddenly there was a silky warmth pressed up the length of his side and the skunky smell of the weed was overpowered by something more stringent and sweet. Upon investigating, he discovered the warmth was the beautiful girl he’d seen behind the bar and the smell was her perfume.

“Hi,” she said, parting her glossy, champagne lips in a smile and revealing perfect, flat white teeth. Up close, Niall could see that she was, indeed, no older than he was, but all the same he felt that he was in the presence of a woman and not a girl. It intimidated the hell out of him.

“Hi,” he said, shy about the distinctive softness he felt against his arm.

“You’re Niall,” she told him as if he didn’t know. “I’m Natalie. I’m so glad you came tonight.”

“Nice to meet you,” Niall said, offering her his hand, “Thanks for having me.”

She clasped his hand, but instead of shaking it, she brought it to rest casually atop her folded thighs, which were bare up to the hem of her tube dress.

“My pleasure. I needed an excuse to get to know you and I thought, what the hell, my parents are out of town, I’ll throw him a party!”

Niall’s eyes attempted to go wide, but with all the smoke in the air, they simply became slightly less squinty. “This – you threw this party for me?”

“Yeah,” Natalie said, folding her knee over Niall’s lap, “But don’t tell anyone.”

Niall didn’t know what to do. He reached out for instruction, looking to Louis, but the room was really thick and everything seemed to be moving sort of slowly. Louis was where he left him, but he looked so much further away as he gave Niall a cheeky thumbs-up and stuck the tip of his tongue between his teeth.

“Why?” Niall asked, when he managed to look back over at the girl who was practically on top of him.

“Because,” she said, leaning in to speak directly into his ear. “I think we’d be great together. Don’t you?”

“Uhhh…” Thinking suddenly became very difficult. It was as if he could only follow a few words at a time, then he’d get lost and have to regroup. “I don’t know you…”

“You could get to know me. Would you like that?”

Without waiting for a reply, she leaned in and kissed his lips with a soft sigh. She was wearing a lip gloss which smeared against Niall’s mouth and made him squeamish. Everything about her was so soft and gooey, Niall felt like she was melting on him. Thankfully, she didn’t attempt to use her tongue, nor did she notice how badly Niall was wincing.

After she pulled away, she smiled at him and Niall smiled back, but it quickly disappeared when he started scrubbing the goo from his face on the back of his hand. Natalie laughed quietly, finding such childishness endearing.

“I couldn’t believe it when I heard about you,” she continued, her fingers compulsively curling into the hair at the back of Niall’s neck. “A good-looking jock from Ireland who wasn’t taken? I thought to myself, ‘Oh, my god, the two of us together, we can rule this school!”

Niall could only imagine what ‘ruling the school’ could possibly mean. The closest he could approximate was that they would be on some sort of student council and that sounded both taxing and altogether ghastly.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for public office,” Niall said dully, hoping it would get the girl off his lap, but instead, she threw her head back and laughed a rich, ballsy laugh that Niall was vaguely aware was the sort of thing that made straight boys go weak in the knees.

“Come on,” she cajoled, “Eleanor and Tomlinson have been ruling the school since they hooked up. I say we knock them off that pedestal.” His bangs were being stroked away from his eyes in gentle sweeps as she continued coyly, “I think we could even steal the homecoming crowns from them, if we wanted to.”

“Nu-uh, bitch!” Louis said suddenly, from where he was slumping down over the bottom lip of the sofa. “I’ve got that shit locked up! Good schools look for shit like that! Over my dead body, you an’ Irish are going to steal it from me!”

“Homecoming?” Niall looked to Natalie for an explanation. “Crowns?”

“You’re adorable,” she beamed at him, straightening the collar of his polo. “So, what do you say? Care to join forces?”

In the corner of his eye, Niall saw Nadja try to pass the joint back to Louis, but Louis didn’t notice because he was too busy eavesdropping on the couple across from him. That arrested Niall’s full attention and Louis immediately waved a hand at him as if to say, ‘Pay attention to her, not me!’ Natalie was likewise aware that she’d lost her audience and to retrieve it, she ran her tongue over the shell of Niall’s ear. The sensation was a pleasant one that sent skittering bolts down to Niall’s groin and his vision went even blurrier than it already was.

“There are a lot of empty guest bedrooms in my house,” Natalie purred. “Wanna go celebrate our team-up?”

The marijuana had taken full grip of Niall by then, but he wasn’t so disconnected that it wasn’t very clear that he was being propositioned for sex -- being propositioned for sex by a beautiful, worldly, wealthy woman who wanted to make a powerful man of him; but all the while, all Niall could do was stare at the boy across the coffee table from him and imagine how perfectly he would fit between those licentiously splayed thighs.

“I’ll have to think about it,” Niall slurred.

Immediately, Louis curled up in a little ball in an attempt to hide what was no doubt a devilish cackle. It was a poor attempt and Natalie’s sultry manner suddenly became much less accommodating.

“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice dropping a register.

“Uh, let me get back to you. I need to think about it.”

It was clear Natalie Plympton had never received such a reply and had utterly no idea how to react to it. Her mouth was parted in a stupefied pout and her eyes were searching his face for a clue she may have missed.

“But thanks again for having me! It was nice to meet you!” It was as parting a line as Niall could make it. When she still didn’t leave, Niall plucked the joint from Louis’ fingers and held it before her nose. “Want a hit?”

That did the trick. Her calf unlocked from Niall’s lap and she was on her feet in a matter of seconds. “No. Thanks… I’ll… I’ll see you in school, Monday?” she asked, trying to maintain her dignity. It occurred to Niall that she actually thought he was going to consider dating her and he felt a little sorry for her.

“Yeah!” he said, trying to be as genuine as possible. He knew they didn’t have any classes together, but he made a point to remember to say hello to her if they passed in the hall. She gave him a notably noncommittal smile and backed away, tottering on her high heels.

As soon as she was out of earshot, the sofa shook as Louis flung himself against Niall’s side, cackling hysterically. “That was the suavest shit I’ve ever seen! You are captain of the neg-hit!”

“The what?”

“She’s gonna be obsessed with you for years, now: The Boy Who Rejected Her.”

“Well –“

“The Niall Horan Complex – it’s driven all the girls of Jefferson Valley insane!”

Niall wished now that he knew exactly what he had done so successfully with Natalie so he might do the same with Louis. Nadja was slouched back on the other couch, shaking her head, “You guys are dicks.”

“What?” Louis defended, reaching for the joint Niall was still holding and making no use of. “She’s a slut.”

“Now you’re being a real dick,” Nadja said with the steadfastness of someone who knows she’s right.

“She takes some guy up into her guest bedrooms at least once a party,” Louis justified himself to Niall.

“And you’re just jealous it’s never been you,” Nadja said, a malevolent half-grin forming on her face.

“Fuck you,” Louis scoffed. “You know that’s not true.”

The girl shrugged under her mane of dreadlocks and clearly had no stomach to press her case. The truth was, Niall was dying to know whether or not it was true, but he suppressed his curiosity by stealing the joint back from Louis and having another hit.

~*~

Niall would have been perfectly content to sit pressed up against Louis all night. However, the other boy wanted more beer and Niall felt inclined to get him one. The marijuana was like a blanket around him, buffeting him from the noise, the people, the awkwardness he usually would have felt in a swarm of people he didn’t know. He felt relaxed all the way to his belly and even found himself describing to Emily James that there were muscles in his stomach that were relaxed now that he didn’t know weren’t relaxed before, because he never knew he was holding them before, but now he could totally feel the difference because they were totally relaxed, etc.

Somehow, more alcohol got poured down him and it was when he became aware that the beer in his hand was almost empty that he remembered that he had forgotten Louis. But when he returned to the two lip sofas – only now Niall realized that they were placed so it looked like they were about to kiss – he found them occupied by four people, none of whom Niall knew and also, none of whom were Louis.

So, he wandered. At one point, he found himself at the pool table, bragging loudly that Irish genes made for superior billiards and he proved this by using the 18 as the cue ball and sinking nothing. He hung out by the hot tub for a spell, chatting with the friendly strangers within and playfully resisting their attempts to get him out of his clothes and into the bubbles with them. Then he was sitting on the stairs with Shelley Ackerman, who wasn’t feeling too well and he brought her some water.

Through many of these adventures, Niall, as most boys his age, was thinking about sex. The old feeling of insufficiency was creeping up on him when he considered that he was probably the only virgin at the entire house party. Back in Ireland, all of his male friends had had sex by the time they were sixteen and so had most of the girls – although he was convinced some of them were lying. All the same, Niall couldn’t help but feel that he had fallen behind his peers, or that he was a child among grown men and women.

It was at a very young age that Niall knew he was gay and that women were of no interest to him sexually. This was a very lonely realization since, to this very day, he’d never met another boy who identified as homosexual. There was a police officer back in Mullingar who was very upfront about her lesbianism, but Niall had never had the courage to speak with her about it.

So, as Niall had repeated to himself over and over as he lie awake in bed, tormenting himself with thoughts of his own virginity, that was the reason, of course, why he was a virgin. Who was he supposed to have sex with? While this was all very legitimate, Niall knew this was simply an obfuscation of the truth, which was even simpler: Niall was shy and sex was scary. Unlike seemingly everyone else in the world – from his friends to the people on TV – sex was a big deal to Niall. He wasn’t entirely sure what sex meant, exactly, but he knew it meant something and he knew it was important.

That elusive meaning was precisely what was on his mind when he looked up from petting Shelley Ackerman’s hair out of his face and he saw Louis leaning on their goalie, Sam Garcia, clearly a drunken wreck and loving every moment of his life. He was flinging himself about, from friend to friend and would sometimes let himself fall over just to see who would come catch him – and someone always did.

Looking at him, sweaty and drunk and shambling like a zombie, Niall knew that no matter what sex actually meant, he was ready to do it – and he was ready to do it with Louis Tomlinson.

“Hey!” Louis had spotted him from where Lacey Bhatnagar was struggling to keep both him and her beverage upright. “Niall! I’ve missed you, buddy, I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Niall-ho!” Louis directed his current caretaker and Lacey did her best to get Louis over to Niall without jostling too many people. It was with no small relief that Lacey dumped Louis into Niall’s arms and it was with no small amount of gratitude that Niall accepted him.

“Where’ve you been for, like, the past two and a half hours?” Louis asked. They were sprawled out on the stairs, Louis sloshed between Niall’s legs and Niall holding him under the arms to keep him from spilling down onto he landing. Shelley, sensing either she was interrupting something, or just needing to get to a bathroom post-haste, left them without so much as a farewell.

“You know – chillin’,” Niall returned. “You?”

“Same. Hey,” the other boy, reeking of pot and alcohol, wiggled up Niall’s body to whisper in his ear, “I’ve been looking all over for you. I wanna show you something.”

Niall’s heart was in his throat, anticipant.

“What?”

“Just – help me up. I wanna show you…”

The drunk helping the drunk and crippled, Niall managed to get them both respectively on their feet, both gripping the railing like they might otherwise plummet to their deaths. Niall got Louis’ arm around his shoulder and aided him in what seemed like an intent to mount the stairs.

“Where are we going?” Niall asked.

“Up,” Louis smiled secretively. “To the guest bedrooms.”

That struck Niall like a fiery bolt in his pelvis. He held Louis tighter and felt every part of him flush with excitement and the thoughts reeling and half-formed in his head sounded very much like prayer.

Louis was giggling in his neck and when they reached the second story, Niall reached for the first bedroom door that didn’t have a sock on the knob.

“Not there,” Louis snorted like he knew something Niall didn’t. Then he looked around the hall, confused for a moment, before pointing at another indistinguishable door that he seemed to like better. “That one.”

“Ok,” Niall laughed softly, willing to indulge his love in whatever slight whimsy he may have. He only found himself hoping that every one of these rooms was properly stocked with lube and condoms, since Niall had come completely unprepared.

They were both laughing and breathless by the time Niall got the door open and smuggled them both into the room. There were no lights on and Niall was fine with the black. He closed the door and immediately hugged Louis in his arms, pressing his face into his neck. The other boy stopped giggling and took hold of Niall’s shoulders, allowing Niall to push him back against the door.

Niall’s heart was racing uncontrollably when he pulled away to look at Louis’ face. He was smiling his patented happy-go-lucky Louis Tomlinson smile and Niall was angling his head, girding his loins to lean in and kiss him when he heard:

“Holy shit, did you actually bring him?”

There was a click and suddenly the room was alit with a yellow half glow and Niall spun around to see four figures he hadn’t realized were there.

“Surprise!” Louis yelled, throwing his arms above his head in child-like enthusiasm. And it was a surprise, indeed. So much so that a stone cold fever flooded Niall’s system and did remarkably well in overriding the work of both weed and booze.

It was the Payne brothers. Liam was leaning against a dainty vanity that was well camouflaged beneath a pile of empty beer cans. Carey was sitting on the edge of a luxurious double bed, next to the open window where he knocked the ash off his cigarette. He looked like he should have been in bed a few hours ago. The other two regrettable presences were Max White and Jared Mayer, both looking like they were waking out of a good deal of boredom.

“I was beginning to think you were never gonna get him up here,” Jared said, driving the fist of one hand into the palm of the other and advancing on Niall menacingly. For an instant, Niall thought he was going to faint, but when he saw the three other boys start to converge on him, the adrenaline scorched through his system and commanded his blood out to all points. Acting solely on survival instinct, he barreled toward the door, only to be caught and thwarted in Louis’ arms.

Niall tried to shake him off, but as flimsy as his lower half was, Louis’ upper body had strength enough to immobilize him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Louis said, after Niall let out a little sob. “This is gonna be fun, ok?”

Then he was being wrenched away by the scruff of his hoodie and he could tell by the force behind it that Liam had gotten hold of him. He wished like hell he had had the foresight not to drink when he knew there were predators present, since being jerked around interfered with his equilibrium and made him lose his footing. But before he could fall, Liam hoisted him back onto his feet like a ragdoll and flung him into the vanity. The beer cans scattered in an noisy crash, but Niall knew no one would hear them over the loud music, the same way no one would hear him if he started screaming.

“Hey!” He heard Louis’ voice from the door. “Remember what I said!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jared drawled, taking off his jumper and stretching athletically.

“What?” Carey looked around at his brother and his brother’s friends. “What did he say?”

“We can’t fuck him up because of practice next week,” Max informed him.

“That’s why I wanna fuck him up!” Carey roared petulantly. “I wanna fuck him up so he can’t play!”

“Carey, Jesus –“ Louis was saying, but Niall wasn’t going to just stand there and let them fight over him like jackals over a corpse. He lunged for the door again, but Liam caught him around the middle and easily tackled him to the floor.

The braying they made was even more jackal-like than the bickering and Niall felt hands all over him, pulling at his clothes and his hair and smacking him everywhere as the hive mind of his attackers seemed to converge on a plan.

“If we can’t fuck him up, I know exactly what we’ll fucking do to him,” Liam snarled and suddenly Niall’s terror became very specific. Perhaps it was the overreaction of his subconscious fear that everyone knew about his sexuality, but Niall felt certain he was going to be raped. His fears were further exacerbated when he felt all of those hands start tearing at his clothing, stripping him bare.

He couldn’t recall whether he was screaming or not but he was certainly fighting for his life. He kicked and clawed and grabbed and punched, but those hundreds of hands had him naked in minutes. They didn’t even leave him the socks on his feet.

Somewhere, far in the distance, he heard one of the boys, probably Jared say, “Take his clothes! Throw them out somewhere!”

And then Carey’s distinctive squeak, “Oh my god, look at his dick! It’s fucking tiny, man!”

“Up!”

Then it was just Liam’s hands on him, dragging him to his feet by wrenching his arm nearly out of its socket. Niall was fighting as ferociously as he ever had, determined that if Liam wanted him standing, it was better to be on the floor and he let his body weight go dead in Liam’s grip. The boy wasn’t expecting it and Niall tumbled to the floor, where he immediately sprang back up and idiotically wasted his advantage in trying to find his clothes.

All he saw was a glimpse of Louis slumping back against the door, looking like he was about to disgorge all the alcohol inside him, before hands were on him again, this time several pairs. They lifted him up and, in his hysteria, Niall imagined they were taking him to the bed.

With every ounce of strength left in him, Niall thrashed. He kicked and punched with all the ferocity of someone trying to break bones, so it was little wonder that his tormentors released him. Finally free, Niall raced to the far side of the room, where the cold air of the window lashed over his entire body.

He stared at them all. He was crying and his chest was heaving and his hands were wet from where he’d split Carey’s lip. They were all staring back at him, wide-eyed like the last thing they expected was for him to fight back. Their standoff was broken by Louis. He made a pained step forward and said, “Niall—“

But it spooked Niall badly enough that, clothing and decency forgotten, he took the only route that seemed available to him and he scrambled out of the second story window.


	11. Part the Next Part X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have no fear -- Narry is coming. Bear with me.

Luckily for Niall, the pile of firewood he fell into was old and rotted, so it gave when his weight collapsed atop it. Of course, unluckily for Niall, the pile of firewood he fell into was old and rotted, so by the time he rolled out of it, his entire left side was riddled with splinters.

Above him, he heard the jackals’ cries of disbelief and Niall knew he wasn’t safe until he was far from their reach. So, he started running.

He was a pale streak in the night, his whiteness on full display and reflecting the moonlight to where he almost looked silver. The adrenaline carried him several blocks, but eventually, it began to ebb and after all the drinking and inhaling smoke, he had little steam to propel him. The night was cold and his feet were bleeding from repeatedly scraping against the pavement. Wrapping his arms around himself to try to keep warm, he suddenly became aware of his own nudity and the absurdity of his situation. What’s more, he couldn’t stop crying.

He was so bewitched by his own misery that he almost didn’t notice the car that had turned the corner and swung its high beams over him. Immediately, he ran up the driveway of a comfortable, but otherwise entirely cookie-cutter suburban home and crouched behind the shrubbery. He cowered, waiting for the car to pass, but much to his horror, he heard the car come to a stop and a door open.

Visions of further torment came to mind and he knew if he heard Liam’s voice, he would just start screaming. But it wasn’t Liam.

“Niall?”

It was a female.

“Niall. Please come out.”

It was a female with a voice like springtime. Obviously, she had seen him leap into the bushes, but he was too ashamed to show his face – even more ashamed to show the rest of him.

“Go away,” Niall sniffed.

“Niall,” the word sounded so soft and comforting when she said it, “I brought your clothes.”

Well, shit. Niall scrubbed his face in a bid to be presentable, even though his dignity was a sinking ship, and crawled out from behind the foliage. Even silhouetted by her headlights, Eleanor’s form was as unmistakable as her voice – soft, feminine, ethereal. When he appeared, she came forward and let him stay in his protective crouch to hand him his clothes.

Niall was too humiliated to even thank her. He swiftly dressed himself, hissing slightly as the pressure pushed the splinters deeper into his flesh.

“Let me drive you home,” she said as he gingerly pulled on his socks.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Louis sent me.”

“Why?”

“He feels awful—“

“I’m sure he does,” Niall replied with more snap than he’d ever had in his voice. Sinking his heels into his sneakers exacerbated the pain in his damaged, swollen feet.

“Niall,” Eleanor lamented, “He wasn’t trying to hurt you, he’s not like that—“

“Not like what!” Niall snarled, lifting his head to her and allowing the tears to start afresh. “Not like the rest of those bastards? He is, Eleanor, he’s every _bit_ like the rest of those fuckers! He’s worse!”

“No, Niall,” she was trying to keep her cool, trying to get Niall under control. “No, he just doesn’t know what he’s—“

“I don’t want to hear it! Do you know what he did to me?”

Niall was fully dressed now and he rose, the pain of his landing beginning to make itself known. Eleanor backed up a little bit and Niall saw that for a moment, she thought he might attack her. He was too distraught to care.

“Yes, he… Niall, he didn’t mean anything by it… he’s really sorry.”

Niall was in overwhelm. The events that had transpired in the past two weeks in America were more dramatic than his combined seventeen years in Mullingar.

“Wh—Am I supposed to believe that?” he gasped out, his breath hitching and unsteady.

“They’re just _boys_ , Niall,” Eleanor insisted fervently. “They’re idiots, they don’t know what they’re doing—“

“Don’t make excuses for them!” Niall snapped back. “They’re fucking _mean_!”

“Louis’ not like that! Niall, you know he’s not like that! He wouldn’t have let them hurt you! They just were trying to have fun—“

“Why are you standing up for him?” Niall knew he was lashing out and that Eleanor didn’t deserve to take the brunt of it, but he was determined to do damage and she was the only target he had. “He isn’t even good to you! He thinks you’re a nag! You know what he was telling me, before we came here? How many girls he’s fucked. He ever tell you that? How many girls he’s fucked?”

The gentle contrition that had defined Eleanor’s features faded drastically. Her cheeks became hollow and her spring time turned to winter.

“You don’t know us,” she said. “You don’t know anything about us – you don’t know anything about Louis! You’ve been here a week, you think you can tell me something I don’t know about Louis?”

It was clear he had struck a nerve with her.

“We’ve been dating for over a year now! We met – We met in Christian camp when we were thirteen, don’t-- Don’t you dare—You’re lying!”

“I’m just telling you what he said!” In Niall’s head, that sentence was intended to be conciliatory, but the way it came out of his mouth, he could feel that he was actually grinding salt into the wound.

She was taking little sips of air that indicated how hard she was struggling to not cry. Her hands flexed compulsively into fists. “What is wrong with you?” she spat. “I came out here – Louis sent me out here, because he felt _bad,_ because he was trying to make things _right_ and you just – you just--!”

Her tears were just as real as Niall’s when they fell down her face and Niall suddenly felt every bit as monstrous as Liam. His heart was hardened at the thought of Louis’ suffering, but Eleanor had never shown him anything but kindness.

“I’m— I’m sorry—“ he stuttered out, but he couldn’t get a proper grasp on what he was apologizing for. “You can do better, Eleanor. Find someone who respects you—“

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about!” But the way she was crying – sobbing openly, now – certainly suggested that he happened onto something very real, indeed. “Oh, _crumbs_!” she snarled, distressed that she had worked herself into such a state.

“You know what?” she said, her voice hitching. “You’re not getting in my car. Just take this!”

She flung open the back door of her little grey sedan and began struggling to get the handlebars of Niall’s bike through the aperture. Niall hadn’t even known it was back there and now he was doubly regretful of his own behavior.

The frame of the bike was cumbersome and she really had to yank to get one of the wheels unstuck from behind one of the seats, but she managed to extract it before Niall could make himself move to help her.

“Take it,” she snapped and added sarcastically, “Louis insisted I bring it to you, but screw him, right? He’s a lying, cheating jerk.”

“I’m sorry, Eleanor, I shouldn’t have said anyth—“

“No, you shouldn’t have!”

She said it at such a volume that it resonated off the pretty, white suburban house on whose driveway they were conversing. It was no surprise when one of the windows of that pretty, white house opened abruptly and a man’s voice commanded, “It’s two o’clock in the morning! Go home!”, which was nicer than what they deserved.

Eleanor knit her shapely brows as the window slotted shut, but she clearly thought highly of this advice and turned on her heel to get in her car.

“Eleanor, thank you! Please, I’m – I’m sorry!”

All he got in response was the pointed slam of a driver’s side door and the smell of rubber in his nostrils as she peeled out, without a backward glance.

~*~

2: 24 am: _Hey you ok?_

3:18 am: _You get home ok?_

3:32 am: _Dude talk to me_

10:04 am: _Im sorry._

10:57 am: _Call me when you wake up ok?_

12:12 pm: _Answer your phone_

Was the collection of honey traps Louis had texted him over the past ten hours and which Niall was now reviewing as he sat naked on the bathroom counter in front of the mirror.

He had awoken that morning to the worst itching sensation in his left side and realized that he had slept with a multitude of splinters gouged into him. And, as he slept and dreamt and rolled about in his bed sheets, those splinters had gouged only deeper.

Upon investigation, he saw that his entire left side was red and irritated. Fear of infection set in and now, here he was, phone in one hand, tweezers in the other, pointedly ignoring Louis’ attempts to reach him and wondering if he was capable of swallowing his pride and contacting Zayn.

As it turned out, he was.

“Zayn?”

“Niall! What’s up?”

“I’m um… I’m kind of in trouble, can you come over?”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Just… It’s embarrassing. Can you come over?”

Zayn snickered and Niall could only imagine what Zayn was envisioning.

“Yeah, sure. Should I bring gloves?”

Niall checked himself out in the mirror again.

“Yeah. And antiseptic.”

By the time Zayn arrived, Niall had done the best he could with what he could reach, but there were some splinters that had gone too deep, some he could feel but couldn’t see and some that were on parts of his anatomy that no human was ever intended to self-access.

The look on Zayn’s face after Niall took him up into his bathroom and bared his side to him was comical in its cartoonish bewilderment.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Niall had given great consideration as to how he wanted to relate this story. A very deep part of him wanted to describe it exactly as he had experienced it, leaving no gruesome detail unturned. However, a far cagier part of his brain told him that underselling it would not only save face, but allow him to see Zayn’s reaction to the tale without prejudice. So, he said:

“Fell into a pile of dead wood.”

Zayn frowned and, without being invited to, hooked his finger in the waist of Niall’s pants and peered below.

“Hey!” Niall squirreled away, not ready to reveal that, yet.

“Niall, you have splinters on your butt.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, you fell into a pile of dead wood naked.”

Niall kept his face intentionally blank. “Yes.”

It was impossible to keep it that way, however, because Zayn burst out laughing and clapped his hands in merriment.

“Ok,” he said through his chortles, “You have to tell me what happened.”

Niall sighed. Then he extended the tweezers to Zayn and said, “You pluck and I’ll tell you.”

And so Niall related the story as factually as he could, leaving out of course any reference to his superobjective of getting into Louis’ pants. “I guess you could say I got hazed again,” he started out, hissing as Zayn yoinked a particularly deep sliver out of his skin, right below his shoulder blade. “I mean, I was pretty drunk – we were all pretty drunk – and Louis told me he wanted to show me something in be guest bedroom--”

“Holy shit,” Zayn looked up from his work and Niall was startled; he hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet.

“What?”

“Going to the Plympton guest bedroom with Louis Tomlinson,” Zayn wolf-whistled. “Niall, you stud!”

A modicum less willpower and Niall would’ve laid it all bare right then. But he resisted, blushed, and laughed as any straight boy would laugh at the farcicality of slipping off to a private quarter to have sex with another boy. What madness!

“I know, right? What can I say, I was drunk. Anyway, so I get in there and… Ha. And so, waiting for me were the Payne brothers and their fucking… you know, posse.”

He was doing everything he could to try and play it off as casually as possible, but Niall didn’t have the acting chops his brother did and the cracks were showing. Zayn’s eyes flickered up from his work again and his hands slowed from where they were trying to determine the depth of a splinter.

“Okay,” he prompted, his voice dark with foreboding.

Niall shrugged, working himself into a sweat trying to keep it lighthearted. “And it was… Ha, it was really weird, you know, cause they didn’t beat me up or anything, they just got me naked and –“

And what? Was he really going to tell Zayn he thought he was going to be raped? Niall felt a bit weak and closed his eyes, concentrating on the pain of Zayn picking splinters out of him to ground himself – except Zayn had stopped again and was staring at him.

“And what? They got you naked and _what_?”

Zayn didn’t look scandalized as much as baffled, which made Niall feel somewhat better. “And… And I don’t know. I jumped out of the window before they could do… Whatever they were going to do.”

The confusion on the other boy’s face had pulled his eyebrows together into one dark line across his forehead. “Wh.. What do you think they were going to do?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Niall lied.

“What, were the going to make you run through the house or som—OH!” That a light went off in Zayn’s brain was clear by the way his face opened up. “OH!” he said again, driving Niall crazy with suspense.

“What?”

“This was at Natalie Plympton’s!”

“Yeah.”

Zayn laughed in relief. “They were going to throw you in the pool. Every party, they throw some poor guy in the pool. It’s usually Kennedy Sherman – that kid’s an asshole.”

“What, like they have a quota to fill or something? One kid every party?” Niall asked, wincing as Zayn went back to work, wrenching a beam out of Niall’s rib.

“Well, no. It’s just sort of – I dunno – tradition.”

Niall gave this some consideration, but he wasn’t convinced. “Zayn,” he said, his intonation a little more care-burdened, “This is Liam and Carey we’re talking about – they wanted to hurt me.”

His caretaker was quiet, but Niall knew it was because he was thinking. Five more splinters were removed from his side before Zayn asked very evenly, “What did you think they were going to do?”

Niall blushed. He was embarrassed, since Zayn’s mind clearly hadn’t gone where Niall’s had, but he desperately wanted to hear another person’s perspective on it. “I thought they were going to… Y’know… Do something dirty.”

“Dirty?”

Niall was clearly shy and Zayn eased the tension by saying snarkily, “Niall, this is a high school, not prison.”

“Sure,” Niall replied with a little laugh, “But it’s America. Not Ireland.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? We’re all perverts over here?”

“Well.” There was a follow-up to that, but Niall’s mind stalled out. It made Zayn snort and poke him in a splinter. “Really?” he said, “That’s how you all think of us? Perverts just waiting to get Irish guys naked?”

“No,” Niall tried to soften the blow, “But… I mean, come on. Shit like that actually happens over here.”

“It does?”

“Yeah! You guys have school shootings, like, once a week! And I’ve seen the rape statistics on your college campuses and in the military, it’s insane. And everybody here has guns, it’s just – Yeah! I think you’re all perverts and psychos!”

Zayn was shaking his head, amused. “Why did you even come over here if you’re so scared of it?”

“I didn’t want to!” Niall confessed. “I wanted to stay in Mullingar. I liked it there. I mean, granted I didn’t have a lot of friends, but I liked it.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one, I never got beat up. I’ve seen,” he had to pause a moment and think about it, “Four fights since I’ve been here? Been in three of them.”

“You’re just trouble, Irish.”

“The only reason we’re here is my mum has always fantasised about living in America,” Niall said, his voice going soft. “She watches a lot of TV and films – American TV and films. I think she wants to be Katie Couric. Anyway, when Greg went to uni, I think my parents figured their responsibilities were over and they could do what they wanted.”

“You don’t get along with your parents?” Zayn asked, his dark eyes sad and knowing. Still attempting to be the optimist, Niall shrugged gamely and replied, “Well, who does, right?”

Zayn parted his lips and took a breath, and Niall could hear the words ‘I do’, echoing at the back of his mouth, but Zayn generously swallowed it down and said nothing. Niall sighed.

“I don’t know if I’m down for meeting Hannah for coffee. I don’t feel like being in public.”

“That’s alright. We can go over to my place and play video games; you can even invite Hannah if you want.”

Niall smiled at him, grateful for what he knew was a difficult concession for Zayn to make.

“Thanks. I’ll call her when we’re done with this. Are we almost done with this?”

“Well,” Zayn said regretfully, “You’re gonna have to take your drawers off if you want me to get these splinters out of your butt.”

That made Niall laugh and he shoved Zayn’s shoulder friskily. “See? See, you’re all perverts trying to get Irish guys naked! Fine. Prepare to be blinded.”


	12. Part the Next Part XII

“I really don’t have anything to say,” Niall was telling his journal, “But I have to keep writing so I have an excuse not to look at him. Jesus, my side is itchy as hell. This sucks.” First hour was proving itself awkward. Eleanor had refused to acknowledge him when he walked in, which was rather how Niall would have preferred she played it, but Louis was not of the same mind.

“Niall – Hey, Niall, dude—“ Louis was trying to poke him in the knee with one of his crutches, but Niall moved his leg just out of reach.

“Are you going to talk to him?” Hannah was sitting next to him, as always, liberally invading his personal space before the bell rung. It had been the three of them over at Zayn’s house yesterday, playing Halo 3 and somewhere in between capturing the flag and a king-of-the-hill free for all, Niall had related his story to her. Like Zayn, she didn’t bite at the possibility that the boys were aiming to do anything terribly dirty to him, but the situation had distressed her so that even in the listening to it, she had started to cry. It was rather sweet, really. Zayn had made her tea.

“No,” Niall replied, not even lifting his head to look at her. “I’m ignoring him.”

He was still confused and frankly, he wasn’t in any state to deal with a man who was either an excellent person who just happened to have piss poor taste in practical jokes, or a conniving, manipulative monster who would only ruin him further.

“It wouldn’t be so confusing,” Niall continued writing, “If he didn’t always look so bloody good.” Which was another reason why Niall refused to look up from his notebook. After undergoing perhaps the most traumatic incident of his life, save the time he was attacked by a dog as a child, he certainly would have thought his attraction to the man who had orchestrated it would have diminished. But, sure enough, when he saw Louis sitting there with his busted up foot, his rough-weekend stubble, and what looked like concern in his eyes, Niall’s hormones reacted with fanfare.

“It’s like he has a freaking glamour on him or something. He looks bloody elfin alright.”

“Psst! Niall! Niall!”

It was Louis again, but Niall wasn’t having it. He curled more protectively over his work. “First football practice is tonight. I thought about not going, but for fuck’s sake, it’s football. They wouldn’t dare try anything with John and Bartly right there, anyway. That’s how I’m going to get them back. I’m going to get them all back by being the best bloody footballer on that whole damn fie--”

But his train of thought was interrupted by the harsh sound of Liam’s voice saying, “Hey, asshole!” While trying to get to his seat, Liam had apparently been bumped by poor David Vaughn, the undersized egghead who sat behind Niall.

“Liam!” Mrs. Jordan called before any possible violence could erupt. David managed to make his escape to the back of the room, but everyone was watching Liam to see what he would do. There was a moment in which Niall and Liam accidentally locked eyes and, neither of them wanting to acknowledge it, they both quickly looked away and to everyone’s disappointment, Liam just sat down.

“It’s all over school how you dissed Natalie Plympton at her own party,” Hannah interrupted again, distracting him from his journal.

“What?”

“That you turned her down. And that you got really drunk.”

“Are people saying anything else?”

“No. No one’s said anything about the naked.”

Niall looked around to see if anyone could overhear them. No one was ever terribly interested in anything Hannah Corsen had to say, so all eyes were turned away except for Louis’, who, when he saw that Niall had emerged from his notebook, actually struggled onto his feet and mounted his crutches to presumably come talk to him.

However, before he got too far, Eleanor put a firm hand on his forearm and said, “Leave him alone, Louis.”

“El—“

“He doesn’t want to talk to you, just sit down and leave him alone.”

Louis rolled his eyes dramatically and shook her off. He was about to make a second attempt at approaching Niall, but the bell rang and Mrs. Jordan rasped out. “Alright, in your seat, Tomlinson! The day is starting.”

~*~

The rest of the day proceeded pretty much the same way. He avoided Louis by having lunch in one of the classrooms with Hannah and Zayn, which also purposefully secreted them away from the rest of the meddlesome student populace. And evading Tomlinson in the halls was an easy triumph, since his crutches made him both audible three halls down and pretty lousy in a footrace.

In French, Niall made a point of being late so there was no time before the bell for Louis to corner him and he sat next to pole-up-her-arse Jill, who was known to curtly hush anyone who was trying to speak during class, and thus provided admirable defense against Louis’ attempts.

As the class wore on, it became apparent that Louis had realized the futility of his venture and had given up. This made Niall relax enough to actually concentrate on the class at hand. Mr. Lunt was asking for their homework, which Niall had neatly tucked into his French book. He handed it off as his teacher went by and returned to what he was writing in his journal.

“Really, Mr. Tomlinson?” Mr. Lunt’s drawl sounded a few moments later.

“Really, Mr. Lunt,” Louis returned, his voice factual.

“The assignment was a half a page, Louis. This is barely three sentences.”

“It was the best I could do.”

“That’s a shame,” Mr. Lunt said, not sounding like he really meant it. “If you fail this class, guess who won’t be captain of the soccer team any longer?”

There was a ghost of quiet gossip that burbled through the room and Niall looked up to see Louis’ face go uncharacteristically expressionless. It lasted less than a second before he painted over it with that magnetic superstar smile. “So don’t fail me!” he piped up.

“So don’t force my hand,” Mr. Lunt replied, before dropping the stack of homework on his desk and barking, “VERBS! Apparently, everyone has forgotten how to conjugate them!”

As AVOIR, ETRE, ALLER, and FAIRE were explored within an inch of their being, Niall kept his eyes on Louis. He became aware that he had less of an idea of who this boy was now than he had before he’d even spoken two words to him. While he contemplated this, Louis must’ve felt his gaze and he looked up at Niall, the concern on his face suddenly washing away into hope.

Niall looked away, pretending his glance was accidental, and returned his attention to the board. He thought that the danger had passed, but a few minutes later, he was nearly startled out of his skin when a thick, triangular piece of paper hit him in the face. When he looked around to find its origin, he saw Louis peeking over his shoulder at him, eyes optimistic.

He investigated the triangle. Niall had seen something like it before. The boys called them footballs and flicked them back and forth at each other during class when the boredom got to be too much. The girls used them as discreet means of note-passing. The one Niall was currently holding had ‘NAILL’ scrawled across its face and Niall had to assume it was an attempt at his name.

He was dying to open it and read what it said, but he knew Louis was watching and damned if he was going to give him the satisfaction of seeing him read it. So, taking his self-control in both hands, he slipped the note under his folder and turned his eyes back to the lesson. He could almost feel Louis deflate a few rows away from him and chided himself at the subsequent burst of pride.

~*~

As soon as the sixth hour bell rang, Niall was trucking to the library, anticipating the dark, comforting eyes of the boy who was the frontrunner for title of Niall’s Best Friend.

As he knew he would be, Zayn was there.

“He sent me a note.”

“Wait, what? Who?”

“Louis. He sent me a note.”

“Oh, that. You have bigger concerns.”

“What?”

“The Cougars are already talking shit about you.”

“Niall, the Cougars. The Madison High team.”

More silence.

“Ok, so, Niall – every year, we go to regionals and every year we face off with the Cougars. And we are so evenly matched, Niall, it’s always anyone’s game. So, the rivalry between the two schools is really fucking fierce.”

“What’s a cougar?”

“Like – the animal?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a mountain lion.”

“Ok, so what’s a puma?”

“It’s… also a mountain lion.”

“You see why I’m confused.”

“There are a lot of mountain lions in Colorado.”

“So it’s the mountain lions versus the mountain lions.”

“Yes.”

“Can’t we just all be friends?”

“No! The Cougars are our mortal foes! They must be fought on the beaches, in the trenches, in the cul de sacs…”

“So why are they talking shit about me? Do they even know who I am?”

“Well, not you specifically. Just our team. They want to eat us alive.”

“Cannibals.”

“And your first game with them is in two weeks.”

“What?”

“Like October something-ish.”

“Ish?”

“It’s during homecoming week, we have all of our first games on homecoming week.”

“Why does no one tell me anything?”

“Maybe some folks were trying to tell you and you jumped naked out of a window.”

“Oh, you’re hysterical. Stop before I die laughing.”

“But seriously. First game determines who wins regionals.”

“What? Like, scientifically?”

“Superstitiously.”

“And it happens like that without fail?”

“I honestly never thought to look – we all just believe it.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.”

“When’re you practicing?”

“Tonight, after school.”

“Well, practice hard.”

“Are you invested in the outcome of footie matches, Zayn?”

“I have been known to partake in school spirit on occasion.”

“Like the debate team?”

“Corsen drove me out of that two years ago.”

“Zayn.”

“You know I’m kidding.”

“You’d better be. You had fun with her yesterday.”

“She’s lousy at Halo.”

“It’s a girl thing.”

“My little sister is in the top 100 on the leader boards.”

“Oh. Well. You have to admit, she’s growing on you, mate.”

“Like a fungus – OW!”

“You deserved it. Now get to class and be good.”

“Tch.”

~*~

When the final bell of the day rang, Niall was charging from his seat and making good time to his locker. There was much he had to accomplish: He had a letter to read and a secure place to read it in, he had to arrive at the soccer field early enough to not be considered tardy, but late enough that he was in no danger of winding up somewhere alone with Liam Payne, and he had to change into his athletic gear so he didn’t have to be naked and vulnerable at any point in the locker room.

For two of these things there was a solution: The trash alcove in the back exit where he’d stumbled across Harry smoking last week. Obviously, it was secure enough that Styles had made a comfortable arrangement for his clandestine smoke breaks and, because he had been expelled, this tried and tested blind spot would be perfectly unoccupied. It was here that Niall would both read his letter and change into his gym clothes.

With little regard for the well-being of his belongings, Niall ripped his backpack from his locker, flung into it any needful items, slammed his locker shut and bolted so single mindedly, wily students dodged from his path.

The alcove was rank – ranker for not having Harry’s cigarette smoke to mask the smell. Knowing he only had a matter of minutes before he was supposed to appear on the soccer field, Niall forgave the stench and immediately retrieved the small triangle of paper that he had pushed into his pocket.

The bold misspelling of his name stared up at him. It was an easy mistake for an American to make – Niall, he learned, was an endangered species as far as names went in the states – but, still, it galled him. Niall could not only spell Louis’ name perfectly, but even knew where to put the apostrophe in the possessive, which he was shocked to learn was also not common knowledge in the New World’s teenage demographic.

The paper unfolded easily, but Niall was still impressed by the somewhat excessive origami. Inside, more of that same, scrawling hand spanned the height of two lines, the width of the whole page and the depth of the words, “Meet me in the girls locker room after practice. I’m sorry I hurt you. Hear me out. You’re one of the coolest people I’ve ever met and I want to make this right.”

Niall sighed heavily. “Meet me in the girls locker room” sounded a hell of a lot like “I have something to show you in the guest bedrooms”. And yet, there was a part of him that giddily wanted to cut out the words, “You’re one of the coolest people I’ve ever met” and hang it on his wall. He found himself feeling like nature had done itself a favor by making someone so obstinately stupid gay.

He attempted to refold the note, discerned that only a geometric genius could possibly reassemble it back into its perfectly triangular shape, gave up, folded it like a normal person and dropped it next to his backpack.

The time for stage two had arrived and stage two was the tricky part. Niall quickly secured the area to assure that no one had wandered into his makeshift dressing room. Once assured of his solitude, he took his jeans off first. The wide legs of his of his trousers went off easily over his shoes and his exercise shorts slipped on just as easily. Things only became difficult when he stripped out of his shirt and tried to put on the sleeveless T. He put one of his arms and his head through the wrong holes and subsequently became tangled.

Instead of taking the garment off and trying again, Niall tried to remedy it by shifting the shirt around, ducking his head under what looked like the right straps and pushing his arms through different apertures. The result was that the whole thing became tucked up under his armpits and he was nearly trapped.

His white tummy and pink nipples bare to the world, Niall started a little dance to try to get free. This was when he backed into something that hadn’t the stony consistency of the school wall, but, while formidable, had far more give. He spun and found himself staring once more into the fathomless features of Harry Styles.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked as Niall retreated, feeling the cold air on his skin. He had to wonder if there was indeed some sort of conspiracy to humiliate him with nudity in front of every member of his senior class.

“I’m… stuck,” Niall stated the obvious. He was vulnerable. Harry’s attraction to him was well documented and with all this flesh on display, Niall feared encouraging grabby paws. His fear seemed confirmed when Harry advanced, his hands rising to touch him.

“I can do it! I can do it myself!” He retreated further and his attempts to get free became more fervent, to the point where he heard a telltale ripping noise. The material was tight across his chest and trapping his elbow against his ribs and he was awfully pathetic. When it was apparent that Niall was bested and incapable of freeing himself, Harry came forward again; he did touch Niall, as he had feared, but when he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric of the shirt, it was to unroll the material that had been wrung into a bunch. It loosened enough that Niall’s elbow was unfettered and he was able to maneuver his head through the proper hole. Then, suddenly his white tummy and his pink nipples were safe and warm behind a thin, cheap layer of cotton.

“Um. Thanks,” he said simply.

Harry didn’t reply. They stood for a moment, Niall staring at Harry’s collarbone, recalling just how much bigger Harry was. Niall was cornered again and it made him edgy. “Weren’t you – You know, aren’t you supposed to not be here?”

“You didn’t come to see me.”

Startled, Niall lifted his eyes to Harry’s. “I didn’t – Harry, I wasn’t, there…”

“You said you would come to see me. You promised.”

“I – No, Harry, I’ll come to see you, I just didn’t have time—“

“Tonight. Come see me tonight.”

“I can’t… I have practice.”

The grimace that appeared on Harry’s face was sudden and extreme. Niall didn’t have an opportunity to investigate it, however, because Harry turned away sharply and tore off the bandana that was on his head to hold back his curls. For a moment, Niall just stared at his back, watching him breathe hard and his shoulders bunch and relax. Then, just as suddenly, he was charging back at Niall, his eyes as fiery as they had been when he had shoved Niall in the hall.

“When?!” he demanded.

“I don’t – I don’t – Tomorrow!” Niall blurted out.

Harry was still panting like an angry bull, and he hopped on his toes, trying to determine if Niall was being sincere. “You swear?”

“Y-yes. I swear.”

“At my house?”

“You’re—Harry, I don’t know where your house is!”

“Yes, you do!” Incensed again at Niall’s denial. “You were there on Friday!”

“The—at the edge of the woods?”

“Yes!”

“That’s your house?”

“Yeah,” Harry said defensively, his face still dark with resentment.

Niall was stunned. “You _live_ there?”

“Not,” Harry scoffed. “Not all the time. My mom has a house. But that one’s mine.”

“Oh,” Niall said, relieved on basic principle. “Yes, then. Yes, I’ll meet you at your house tomorrow.”

“You swear?”

“I swear,” Niall blurted, wondering where Harry picked up his reliance on such redundant vowing.

This seemed to appease the taller boy and he relinquished his domineering stance. When he lapsed into his characteristic silence, Niall prodded him. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be at school.”

Harry nodded and shrugged as if to say ‘so what?’

“So… Won’t it get worse if someone sees you here?”

Harry did the same thing again, but with an added flavor of ‘who cares?’

 _This kid is hopeless_ , Niall thought to himself. “Well… I need to get to practice.”

He moved around Harry and was relieved when no action was taken to stop him. Moving hurriedly, Niall stuffed his school clothes into his pack and flung it over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, in hopes of discouraging Harry from seeking him out again. He was intending to break into a sprint when Harry said behind him, “You forgot this.”

Niall turned and saw Harry standing with a shapelessly folded piece of paper in his hand. As Harry started unfolding it to see what was inside, Niall was confused as to what it was and whether or not it was, in fact, his. Niall had completely forgotten that Louis had delivered him a missive on old fashioned paper, even as he stood there watching Harry read every word of it. However, when he saw anger start to cloud over Harry’s brow again, his mind clicked into gear and retrieved all the forgotten information.

“Hey, give me—“

“Who wrote this?” Harry demanded.

“It doesn’t matter,” Niall insisted, grabbing for it. It was no great feat for Harry to pull it out of his reach above his head.

“Who wrote this? Who hurt you?”

“Harry, please give it back!” Niall was jumping now, in an attempt to get it, but all Harry had to do was lean back slightly.

“Who hurt you?” Harry’s deep voice echoed off the close walls of the alcove.

Niall gave up trying to retrieve his property. He heaved a sigh and said, “Harry. I don’t want to tell you, ok?”

“Niall, if somebody hurt you…”

Niall waited, but no follow-up was forth coming.

“What? If somebody hurt me, then what?”

“I’ll fuck them up!” His voice cut like a blade and the echo didn’t dare repeat it.

Harry was gripping the paper like a cudgel in his fist and Niall could see the tension go up his arm and through his entire body.

“Harry,” he said, as if he was trying to calm a spooked horse. “Harry, may I have my letter back, please?”

Harry’s features had all the marks of obstinacy, but he said nothing.

Niall cleared his throat. “I’d like to handle this as peaceably as possible,” Niall tried again. “Without violence.” He didn’t expect Harry to understand that, and the man certainly didn’t relent. “But I promise,” he continued, “If I need to fuck someone up, I will come to you straightaway.”

Harry looked away a moment and Niall felt that he’d gained some ground. “You’ll come to me?”

“Yes,” Niall assured.

Letting this go looked like a painful enterprise for Harry. “I don’t – No one hurts you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Nothing about the words was remarkable. Harry obviously didn’t have much affinity for navigating language in moments of distress, but for all their simplicity, the effect they had on Niall was profound. He wanted to fight and protest that he could defend himself; he wanted to cry because it had been proven several times that he couldn’t.

For once, it was Niall who retreated into silence. He knew if he tried to speak, his throat wouldn’t work right; it would betray how weak Harry had just made him.

Just when he thought that time would never move from this moment, there was a hand in his hair; Harry was stroking him, his long, articulate fingers raking over his scalp, then down to cradle the back of his neck and pull him closer. Niall let himself be pulled, bracing his hands on Harry’s chest for fear of being too close. Then Harry’s lips were on his temple and he said it again, “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Niall’s diaphragm did a very strange shudder that made him gasp and choke slightly and to hide it, he said, “I have to get to practice.”

“I’ll walk you,” Harry said and Niall pulled away.

“You can’t be seen here, Harry.”

“There’s a door at the back gate.”

“There is?”

The back gate was where Niall had attempted to escape Harry the first time they met in this quiet alcove and Niall certainly hadn’t seen any doors there. Of course, it was difficult to look for one while he was pinned against a fence, pressed with savage kisses, the hips of a fierce, half-crazed, bandana-wearing reprobate pulsing between his thighs; the very thought of it made something ancient and tempting tingle just below his bellybutton and on the delicate insides of his wrists.

“It’s by the bleachers.”

“Fine,” Niall said, trying to shake himself back into the present. “Show me.”

Now that he wasn’t sprinting at a break-neck speed, the journey from the alcove to the fence was actually rather pleasant. The field was full of little more than weeds, but occasionally Niall spotted a dandelion that was so cheerful and innocent, he couldn’t help but smile and be grateful. Harry said nothing, but seemed to take note of Niall’s weed fascination and when he saw a dandelion that Niall had missed, he would nudge him gently and point to it and Niall would say something inane like, “That’s a good one.”

The door was, in fact, near the bleachers and at this hour, as of yet unlocked. Through the chain link, Niall could see the collection of boys gathering outside the locker rooms. John was there, which would have made Niall comfortable except for that he was chatting amiably to Liam. From here, Liam didn’t look so terrible a person. By the way he laughed at John’s jokes, Niall suspected he had a reasonably good sense of humor and his smile was undeniably sweet. That this same boy was also capable of terrorizing and dehumanizing one of his peers was no doubt unfathomable to those who hadn’t seen it. It made Niall sick.

He was questioning if he had the strength to actually face them after what they’d done. Turning and giving up on his dream of playing soccer was foremost in his consideration, when he felt the stalwart presence of Harry arrive behind him, strong and capable against his spine. Niall suddenly felt certain that if he pushed backward, directing all of his force and power against Harry’s frame, the other boy wouldn’t budge an inch. But Niall wasn’t intimidated – quite the opposite.

“I can do this,” Niall whispered.

“Do what?” Harry mumbled back to him.

Niall took a deep breath. He turned and faced Harry, gingerly plucking Louis’ note from his hand. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Thank you for the walk and – everything.”

If Harry was perplexed, it didn’t make its way to his face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Niall said as he swung open the gate. “I swear.”


	13. Soccer Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, those of you who are reading, commenting, giving kudos, sharing with your friends! Yes, it's a slow burn, but I promise you in the next chapter: NARRY.
> 
> Yes. The next chapter, there is Narry. 
> 
> Please keep commenting and sharing! It's always a pleasure to hear your thoughts!

Niall’s bravado steamed him straight into the thick of the twelve other boys who had gathered on the field for soccer practice. He bypassed Liam, Jared and Max without a glance and gave Louis a friendly but entirely evasive smile when he noticed the boy’s inquisitive look. Unwavering, Niall stayed the course until John saw him and flung wide his arms, taking Niall joyously and unselfconsciously into a bear hug only someone of his size could offer.

“The new guy’s here, everybody!” Niall heard resonate in the barrel of John’s chest.

Much to his surprise, a celebration erupted behind him. A few guys hooted, Sam was wolf-whistling and the stadium swallowed up the noise of a handful of boys clapping. Niall didn’t have to look to know that Liam and his gang weren’t joining in, but he saw Louis over the swell of John’s shoulder pounding his crutches on the ground and making the loose screws rattle.

“Alright, boys!” Bartly called as he emerged from behind the coach’s station. “Welcome to practice!”

The racket continued, the boys invigorated and in a froth over their tribe coming together for the first time. Bartly, well aware of the verve that was coursing through the veins of these fine, young athletes, barked out, “Gimme three laps, then circle up!”

Then, John’s grip on him disappeared and, like a startled flock of pigeons, all the boys took off in a disorderly charge around the perimeter of the football field. Tuned into the herd mentality, Niall joined them, but shortly fell behind, outpaced by all involved except for Louis, who was gamely trying to get around on his crutches.

“Hey!” A tall, blonde kid with lunar blue eyes called across the field to Louis, not even slightly winded after a lap. “Louis, when you back with us?”

Louis, who was working considerably harder than anyone, barked back, “Next week! Doc’s orders!”

The team, which Niall was beginning to learn was quite excitable, broke out in another cheer and he felt suddenly more at home more than he had since he’d ever come to America. He even found himself joining in on the celebration of Louis’ recovery, despite feeling his lungs burning and his blood overworking itself.

In fact, when the third lap had been completed, Niall’s sweat made his clothing a ruin and he was certain his knees wouldn’t hold him – but he was happy. He came astride of the group that was waiting for him, panting through his smile while the coach welcomed them all, congratulated them, then told them all how he would be systematically wearing them down into a nub of their former selves. Louis sat by Bartly the whole time and after their coach was finished, in his official capacity as team captain, Louis gave his own pep talk and summary of what they should expect of the coming season. If there was any tension between him and Niall, it was forgotten when they caught eyes and smiled at each other in the camaraderie of both being where they knew they belonged.

When they all got in a circle and introduced themselves, Niall was the only one present to learn anything new and he was under the impression Bartly made them do it solely to make him feel welcome. Each player stated his name, his position and shared something special about himself. There was a good deal of cheekiness when the boys got to the ‘something special’ bit. John chose to share that he could fart for 15 seconds straight. Jared mentioned how he could name the cover model on every Playboy from 1953 to present. Louis shared that he was double jointed, proved it by bending his elbows, then suggested he had other parts of his anatomy that were likewise long and flexible, but no evidence of this claim was forthcoming. When it came to Niall’s turn, he got shy and flustered and barely whispered that he was a good cook. It made everyone go, “Awwww!” and John ruffled his hair. Eventually, it got around to Liam.

“My name is Liam. I play center midfielder.” It was difficult for Niall to look at him, but since Liam seemed to have no intention of even glancing his way, Niall had a clear shot to examine his tormentor. He was the tallest on the team, his genes clearly programmed for physical prowess. That Niall got away from him more than once was a miracle. He had a sweet face, his big, brown eyes that gave him the appearance of a harmless puppy, but there was a tension around them that suggested a certain volatility.

“And… something special, Liam?” Bartly coaxed when the boy went silent.

“Well, um…” He did a quick scan of all present, as if he wasn’t certain he trusted everyone. When he decided to speak, it was deliberate, “I just found out I got accepted into Harvard.”

Niall started clapping along with everyone else, because he had learned that it was what this group of people did. A lot of the boys started making snooty voices and a small smile almost made its way to Liam’s face.

“Congratulations, Liam,” Bartly said, “That was the top rated school in the nation last time I checked!”

“Second,” Liam said, his face turning miserably dark, “It’s the second, now.”

Much to Niall’s discomfort, there was a lot more running. Louis hadn’t lied when he said it would make him throw up. He had to go over to the bushes next to the bleachers twice, where he gripped onto the biting metal scaffolding and his magnificent, homemade chicken salad sandwich splattered out into the underbrush. The other boys laughed at him, but he only shouldered half of the abuse since Parker of the remarkable blue moon eyes was right next to him doing the same.

Niall was more contented when they moved onto dribbling drills and was even further relieved when John offered to be his partner in any situation in which their drills required they paired up. In fact, Niall had pretty much forgotten about his bullies until, when performing a crossover drill by weaving in and out between ten cones, Jared had made a point of it to bump him and knock him over. Niall had been so focused on the black and white ball he was passing between his feet, he hadn’t even realized who it was until he’d gotten back into the line and Sam muttered, “Ignore him. He’s a dick. He knows Ed should be here instead of him.”

Niall wondered if that meant he should start shoving people around, since Carey should’ve had Niall’s place. He still didn’t understand why he was here.

Despite being nutritionally depleted, dehydrated from sweating out every molecule of water in him and his muscles quivering from being taxed to their limit, when the coach blew the whistle for them to line up for shots-on-goal, Niall felt a second wind of vigor fill his sails. He had caught a few questioning glances from his teammates who, he knew, were wondering why a little pasty kid who always came in last when completing laps and who couldn’t do a few simple suicides without puking was welcomed onto the team. After his first shot on poor Sam, who hadn’t even noticed the soccer ball had left the ground until it had sailed far past his head, all confusion was gone.

After his second shot on goal (that Sam had managed to graze, but had still gone through) Niall looked to the coach’s table and saw Louis watching him, seemingly in deep concentration. When he saw Niall looking his way, he gave a friendly wave. Niall gave him a barely imperceptible nod and went to the back of the line, where John was giving him a congratulatory high-five.

“Jesus, you’re a machine!” John laughed.

“Thanks,” Niall said, and then more quietly, “So, what’s with Tomlinson?”

“What do you mean?”

“How well do you know him?”

“Shit, after the party Saturday night, I thought you two were best friends.”

“Not really. What do you know about him?”

“I don’t know – what’s to know? He’s a nice guy. Struggles in school a bit; has ADD or something. But his parents are well off, super Christian. What’s wrong? You two have a tiff? I mean, you did absolutely disappear Saturday night.”

“Yeah,” Niall said, shocking himself by speaking truly. “We did sort of have a tiff.”

“Oh, shit,” John chuckled under his breath. “Is this about his girlfriend?”

“What?” A sudden panic washed through him as Niall recalled the horrible things he had said to Eleanor that night and how they had come as such a surprise to her.

“You hit on her, didn’t you?”

“Hit on her?”

“Dude, everyone knows you’re hot for her.”

At that point, Eric Maestas, who was standing in line in front of John, turned around and chimed in, “My little sister knows you’re hot for her.”

“What?” Niall yelped, incredulous.

“You gotta be less obvious about it,” John advised.

“What? No! I didn’t hit on her!”

The two other boys gave him glances of pointed skepticism.

“I swear to God, I didn’t! This isn’t about that!”

“Alright,” John laughed, still functioning under disbelief. “What’s it about, then?”

“I don’t, it’s just -- I can’t tell if he’s mean or not.”

“Oh,” John replied on a darker note. “Yeah, he has a mean side – you’ll totally see it if you keep hitting on his girlfriend.”

The way John said it, with such brotherly unkindness, made Niall smile; it reminded him of the nasty humor of his homeland.

“Shut it,” Niall snorted.

“He’s usually really good to his team mates, though,” Eric got them back on course, “but he can be a punk.”

“A punk?”

“He’s a really great guy,” John said as Sam made a particularly impressive save and the men around them erupted in appreciation. “But,” John continued over the hooting, “he can be vicious.”

While he was grateful to have his suspicions confirmed, Niall genuinely would have rather been proved wrong. John must have seen the color leave Niall’s cheeks. “Hey, look, whatever happened, don’t worry about it, alright? You’re his teammate, you can work it out.”

It wasn’t until now that Niall was certain he would meet Louis in the girls’ locker room. The tension and curiosity surrounding their captain had gotten so intense, Niall would rather risk another attack than continue wondering.

It was Eric’s turn and Niall and John watched as he dribbled up the field and gave Sam his best shot; it was far from impressive.

“What does he… What does he do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Louis, I mean, is he – Is he like Harry? Does he just hit people for no reason?”

“Oh, no, he’s not like that.” John was shifting from foot to foot as he watched Eric bringing the ball back down field. “But he is the reason Styles isn’t allowed to any school sporting events.”

“What? Why?”

But Niall’s questions were lost as John received the ball and was well on his way toward the goal. When it was Niall’s turn to shoot, his mind was spinning so quickly on this new tidbit of information that his shot was listless and faulty and Sam caught it easily, quipping, “Thanks for taking it easy on me for once!”

~*~

Once the practice had officially ended, all the boys said at once some variation on, “Shit, I need a shower”, “I stink to high heaven”, or “Do my muscles look huge to you?” It was dark and the only light by which they could see whether or not their muscles were, in fact, huge, were the stadium lights that made everything white. The team’s spirits were high, their prospects were good, and everyone was looking forward to going home.

Niall walked at the back of the crowd as his teammates were filtering into the halls of the stadium, because he didn’t want any of them to see that he was slipping into the girls’ locker room instead of following them into the boys’. He thought he had been awfully stealthy, but as he opened the heavy wooden door, a voice whispered behind him, “You lightin’ up?”

He turned and saw Parker keening into him conspiratorially. It took Niall a second to realize he was talking about weed. “Um… Yeah,” he said, wondering if he should start keeping a tally of these little white lies so he might one day atone for them.

“Aw, man,” Parker said, shaking his head, “I’d totally join you but I have a test in Physics tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Niall nodded, hiding his relief, “Another time, then?”

“Yeah, definitely. And make sure you turn on the showers or the smoke sticks.”

“Ok,” Niall replied, as if he had any idea what Parker was talking about.

Much to Niall’s relief, there was no one lying in wait for him when he finally stepped inside. He searched through the banks of lockers, the tiled shower block, even the coach’s office and confirmed he was the only one present – the perimeter was secure.

For the wait, Niall did turn on the showers. He liked the sound and he held his hand under the spray. The water stabbed into his flesh with cold, arrhythmic pin pricks. He found that he was actually rather relaxed and his mind had quieted to a good degree. However, when the locker room door opened and the room was filled with the metallic rattle of overused crutches, Niall felt a quick jolt of adrenaline that killed his cool.

The other boy rounded the corner and immediately Niall was aware of what a sweaty, dirty mess he was in comparison. Louis, despite having struggled around a gravel track on a pair of crutches, still looked fresh and sweet and probably still smelled good. Niall was none of these things.

“What are you doing?” was the first thing Louis said when he saw Niall standing at the bank of showers, four of them turned on.

“Parker said to turn the showers on.”

“Why?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

Louis looked at him like he needed to have his head examined, but he let it slide and said, “Well, turn them off. We don’t want someone coming in to check on it.”

Niall did as he was told, getting his shoes and socks wet as he splashed through the puddles on the tile. The locker room was awfully quiet without the roar of the water through the pipes and the intermittent drip drip drip echoing throughout the room was creepy.

“Um,” Louis opened, “I’m glad you came. I was pretty certain you weren’t going to.”

“Yeah,” Niall shrugged, “I was pretty certain I wasn’t going to, too.”

“Look, just come over here, will you?” Louis asked, hobbling to one of the benches against the row of lockers and dropping himself onto it. Niall approached warily, taking a seat across from him on the bench seat bisecting the walkway.

“Look,” Louis started, steepling his hands together as if in prayer, “First I want to say, I’m really, really sorry. We freaked you out and that wasn’t what I wanted. I was really fucked up that night. I had a lot to drink.”

Even though it was the first time in Niall’s life he’d heard that excuse, it struck him as incredibly lame. His lip curled into a sneer and he felt his ire rise, but Louis held up his hands defensively and said, “I’m not done, I’m not done! Hold on, ok? I’ve been practicing this, so just let me get it all out, alright? It was a bad opener, I know, just – hear me out.”

The sniff of dissatisfaction unknit from Niall’s face as he willfully commanded a more equanimous expression onto his features, thus permitting Louis to continue.

“I didn’t know about Liam. I didn’t know that he’d already hazed you earlier in the—“

“Really?” Niall asked, his voice like rusty breaks, peering at Louis out of a squinty eye. Louis clearly had not anticipated being interrupted.

“Really what?”

“You _really_ didn’t hear that Liam had kicked the shit out of me? Zayn Malik knew about Liam before I even told him and he isn’t even in your circle of friends. There’s no way you wouldn’t have known.”

Louis’ face went red and he was clearly off his script when he said, “Dammit, Niall, I’m trying to apologize, here! You’re making it really difficult!”

“Well, you’re--!” Niall didn’t want to say ‘lying’; it sounded like too foul an accusation, so he tried to soften the blow with, “I don’t think you tell people the truth all the time, Louis.”

For a moment, Niall thought for certain Louis would throw a crutch at him, but he just gave it a fearsome shake of frustration and snarled, “I’ve hung out with you, what – once? We hung out once and you think you can call me a liar?”

“Louis, it’s just—“

“No way, Horan! You think you’re so much fucking better than everyone, don’t you?”

Niall was too stunned to reply and his mouth was agape, soundless.

“Since you came here, you think you’re better than everyone! You go around correcting everyone’s behavior, like some – some – I dunno, you’re worse than fucking Mrs. Jordan!”

“What?” Niall’s palms were open on his lap as if openly begging for sense like a mendicant might solicit for change. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You turned down Plympton at her own fucking party, man! Who does that? And then it’s all this ‘Don’t call so-and-so that name’ and ‘why are you Americans so fucking judgmental’ like you’re a saint or something? And then not talking to me so I can’t even apologize to you? That’s all super stuck up, man, you are stuck up!” He said the last two words like they were sentences unto themselves.

Niall was having none of it.

“You called Hannah a whore! Am I supposed to sit around and let people say that about my friend?” He was equally incensed and more than a little indignant. “And Natalie: what was I supposed to do? Date a girl I’m not interested in? How does that work? How is that fair to her? How is it stuck up to not lead someone on? And I didn’t talk to you—“ Niall took a breath to keep himself from railing, “I didn’t talk to you because I was hurt and I wasn’t sure you were a nice person! So, I’m sorry if that makes me look stuck up, I just—And I don’t think Americans are judgmental! I never said that!”

He thought Americans were barmy, but that was different than judgmental.

Niall had nailed Louis on every single one of his points and the other boy knew it. He was still gripping his crutches as if they were battle axes and his jaw was at a defiant tilt, but he seemed to be thinking. Then he blurted, “It’s just hard, alright? I’m trying to apologize to you and you keep calling me out on shit before I can even say two words. Like I can’t even apologize right and now you’re making me apologize for the way I’m apologizing. So, I’m sorry I’m not as… sensitive, or whatever, as you. People don’t… People don’t give me shit much. I don’t know – I just don’t know.”

Niall sensed that ‘people don’t give me shit much’ was probably the truest thing Louis had said to him, yet. As infuriated and uneasy as Louis made him, the other lad still had the ability to disarm him with such unexpected moments of insight. It made Niall very much want everything to be made right between them.

“But,” Louis said, looking at Niall out of the corner of his eye, “I still don’t like you calling me a liar.”

Niall swallowed and with the intention of truly clearing the air between them, he asked very sincerely, “Did you really not know what Liam did to me outside of school that day?”

“I—“ Then silence as Louis leaned his head against one of his crutches and sighed. Niall thought he was probably constructing another contrivance, and was therefore impressed when he said, “Yeah. Eleanor told me.”

Niall felt a knot form in his throat. Why emotions tended to seize him at unexpected, inappropriate instances, he was never certain. He tried to swallow it down when he said, “So you really did just want to—to—“

Louis lifted his head off his crutch to look at him, curious as to what the tortured expression Niall was trying to hide alluded to. “To what?”

Niall huffed. “I don’t know! What were you going to do to me?”

“We were going to throw you in the pool and make you run around the party naked!” Louis said, confounded by the tears welling in Niall’s eyes. “Fuck, what did you think we were going to do?”

Quickly rubbing at the rising tide of tears, Niall was humiliated by the weakness of his own imagination. Of course they weren’t going to rape him -- as much seemed obvious to him now and he was mortified it was the first thing that had occurred to him. But after having seen such violence and disregard for others in this new school, Niall began to anticipate every kind of barbarian.

“I don’t know!” he said, trying to get a handle on himself. “You just—You all were just—you scared me! Fuck!”

Things were quiet as Louis no doubt calculated how he should react to a boy nearly crying in the girls’ locker room. There was a great clatter, for Louis had concluded the best course of action would be to sit next to Niall on the bench; close but not imposingly so.

“You don’t do anything like that in Ireland?” he asked, his voice soft, understanding, perfect.

Niall sniffed. They pulled all sorts of shit in Ireland. In fact, in First Year Secondary one of Niall’s own classmates had been stuffed in an industrial dryer as a prank and not let out for a day and a half. But this was different.

“Do you know exactly what Liam did to me?” Niall asked, wishing the snot would stop pouring out of his nose.

“El said they just tossed you around a bit. Gave you a scare.”

“He trashed my bike, Louis,” Niall said, looking the other boy square in the face, despite the blotchy, tearfulness of his own. “He absolutely ruined it and now my dad says I can’t get my driver’s license until I’m out of the house.”

“But we rode your bike to the party—“

“That was my dad’s! He wasn’t hazing me, Louis, he wants to kill me!” And he wasn’t certain whether he was exaggerating or not.

Louis, however, clearly assumed he was and he snorted, “No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does! He hates me because I got on the team and Carey didn’t! And he destroyed my bike!” He was gripping the bench seat as if was the only thing rooting him to the earth. Louis looked away from him, digesting what he’d heard.

“Oh, man,” Louis shook his head. “I knew Liam was pissed about that, I just didn’t know he’d… I didn’t know he’d take it out on you. His family’s… his family is really--”

There was sound in the hall that suggested some of their teammates had finished up in the showers and were heading home. John’s distinct voice was heard among them, but the words he said were indistinguishable. Laughter was spurting in gouts and all in all, the racket was familial and comforting.

“I get why he’s mad,” Niall said, when the noise had quieted down. “I get why he doesn’t want me on the team.”

“ _I_ want you on the team,” Louis chirped. Niall seemed to become aware of how close he was for the first time.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Louis snickered, as if it was obvious. “That’s why I wanted to haze you – as, like, a bonding thing. I thought we’d all be friends after that. Not – Y’know… I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories or whatever.”

Niall frowned at him. “You thought stripping me naked and throwing me into a pool would make us better friends?”

“Yeah!” Louis said, with that laugh that won him more love than he deserved. Niall wasn’t certain he believed this any more than the ‘I didn’t know about Liam’ lie, but it was Louis’ commitment to the ridiculous that made him smile. “We always haze the new guy and then it’s one big bromance after that!”

Niall was giggling now, wiping his nose on the back of his wrist. “You’re so stupid.”

“Shut up, you’re stupid.”

“Louis, why am I on this team if everyone thinks it should be Carey? I mean, I can kick alright, but still, it’s not enough.”

It was a question he’d been dying to ask anyone, but this was the first opportunity he felt comfortable enough to properly ask someone who might actually know. Louis’ amusement faded and he folded his beautiful, coral pink lips together in thought. He shrugged sharply and avoided Niall’s eyes. “Coach likes you. He’s all over the Irish thing - -the whole school’s gobbling that up, if you didn’t know.”

Niall smiled a little bit – he knew.

“And, I mean, you’re way better looking than Carey, and that definitely helps the turnout,” Louis added with a smile.

Everything inside Niall went all aflutter and any hope he may have had of his affection for Louis dissolving was swiftly abandoned. Suddenly, the offence he’d suffered on Saturday last didn’t seem so heinous as it had and all unpleasantness, he attributed solely to the Paynes and their lunacy.

Niall was blushing and stupid and he didn’t know what to say, so what came out was, “I’m glad I’m on the team.” He sounded like he was eight, and a simple eight at that. Louis laughed and threw an arm around his neck. “I’m glad you are, too, Irish!”

They sat like that for a short time, Niall very much aware of how lithe Louis was against him, how comfortable they were coiled together like this. It felt natural – but then again, the body of a boy simply felt natural to Niall, far better than Natalie had when she had welcomed herself into his lap.

Niall was barely breathing at all in his effort to keep himself from breathing heavily. His hand was resting on the bench between them and all Niall could think about was how much he would like to put it on Louis’ thigh.

“So,” Louis said, interrupting Niall from his lascivious thoughts. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“That night, when I brought you into the guest room?”

“Yeah?”

“So… Am I crazy or were you going to kiss me?”

Niall’s throat closed up as surely as if it had been sealed with an iron lock. Even if he would have wanted to speak, every inch of his physiology refused it in some primal program of self-defense. He started coughing slightly, just to get some air moving through him and he had never been more relieved in his life than when the locker room door opened and Coach Bartly stuck his head in.

“What’re you boys doing in here? Out, out! It’s time to lock up!”

Niall was on his feet in an instant, but Louis was whining petulantly. “Aw, coach!” he said as Niall helped him gather his crutches. “But we were having a heart to heart! Bonding and all that shit.”

“Language, Tommo, set an example,” Bartly said, shifting his stout mass to make room in the doorway for them to pass through. “How’d you like your first day, Horan?”

Niall shouldered his backpack and shuffled after Louis into the hall. “It was alright. Could do with less running.”

That got a laugh out of the two other men as they emerged from the subterranean hallway and into the moonlight. “Well, I gotta whip you into shape before we face the Cougars,” Bartly was saying.

“Oh, yeah,” Niall said, feigning enthusiasm. “Death to the Cougars!”

“Wait til you meet them, you’ll mean that,” Louis smiled at him, as openly as if he hadn’t suspected his new friend of having made a move on him.

“I’m off, then,” Niall said and had to confess, even if it was only to himself, that he was running away. Although he knew that no matter how fast he went he couldn’t outpace the memory of that conversation and how terribly it could have gone had Coach Bartly been only a few minutes later, he was determined to try.

He mounted his bike, uneasy and making false promises to himself that everything would turn out alright. It would only occur to him after he had gone home and run every interaction he’d ever had with Louis on a loop through his head that he had somehow forgotten to ask the other boy about the one thing that had been troubling him since his conversation with John during practice: What ever had happened between Louis and Harry Styles?


	14. After Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's your Narry!
> 
> Yes, I took some liberty with Harry's tattoos and, to my dismay, neglected his extra nipples. (I'm crazy about his extra nipples.)
> 
> I'd love to know what you think of this one!
> 
> Thanks for reading, sharing, commenting!

Niall had never been more grateful to have two tests in one day. Both his advanced algebra class and his music class were intending to try his mettle today and both provided him ample excuse to focus his mind on subjects other than boys. Louis and Harry had swirled through his mind all night, even through his dreams.

It further helped that Louis seemed more willing to give him his space now that they had more or less determined everything was cool between them. He offered Niall a welcoming, happy smile every time their eyes met and would send him silly emoticon texts on occasion, but seemed to have no further wish to interfere with him.

It was clear Eleanor still hadn’t forgiven him. Much like Niall had been with her during his first week, she was refusing to look at him and basically doing her best to pretend he didn’t exist. In fact, she was so cold that when Louis said hello to him as he and Eleanor passed by where Niall, Zayn and Hannah were all having lunch in the courtyard, Louis turned to his girlfriend and said, “What the hell’s up your butt?” upon witnessing her stony countenance. Her only reply was to turn on her heel and march off, leaving Louis to give Niall a puzzled look before he raced after her. Niall didn’t care much for being on the receiving end of a devotedly cold shoulder and swore to himself he wouldn’t do it to anyone again.

 

 

After sixth hour, before his musical theory test and customary meet-up with Zayn, Niall dodged into the toilets to rid himself of the remnants of the two and a half Gatorade bottles he’d ingested during phys ed. As usual, he went into one of the stalls instead of using the urinals. He’d gotten such shit for it, even back in Ireland, but he was still too shy to stand with his dick exposed next to another man while he pissed. When he’d been asked about it, he tried to play it off as homophobia, that he didn’t want men looking at his junk, but that was only half true; he didn’t want other men looking at his dick, because the real reason, if he was honest with himself, was that he subconsciously feared that if another man saw him naked, he would know Niall to be gay – as if it was written on his cock or something. It was irrational and weird, but Niall was convinced, in some sleeping part of himself, that his sexuality left a physical mark that would reveal him to the world. So, here he was, in the stall, safe behind a door that latched.

While he was in the stall, he had heard another person enter the bathroom, but he thought little of it. It only became an issue when he emerged from the stall and saw that it was, in fact, Liam Payne. He was going to the sink to wash his hands and they caught eyes in the mirror. Niall wanted to retreat into the stall and lock it, but he knew such a clear sign of weakness would only entice a predator to pounce. So, he squared his shoulders, gathered himself, and approached the sink next to Liam.

The silence between them was piercing, despite the running of the faucets. Niall knew Liam wouldn’t just clock him out of the blue, but the tension was so fierce, something would have to combust to relieve the pressure. Niall was the first to crack.

“Congratulations on getting into Harvard,” he said, trying to sound confident.

The reaction was not good. It was as if Niall had hit Liam’s most sensitive spot and in an instant there were wet hands fisting in his shirt and Liam was roaring, “Don’t fucking talk about Harvard!” Then he flung Niall back against one of the stall doors, but Niall caught himself on the wall before he stumbled all the way through and fell back onto the toilet.

“What the fuck’s the matter with you!?” Niall couldn’t help screaming back, feeling for the first time in his life that he might be capable of physical violence.

“I don’t give a shit that Louis likes you!” Liam started before Niall had even finished. “I don’t want you to be our fucking friend! I told him you have no goddamn right being on our team! You’re not one of us! You’re a fucking loser!” Liam pushed him again and this time Niall did find himself nearly falling into the toilet.

“You’re a fucking bully!” Niall shouted back, damned if he was going to take this lying down. “And your mom’s a nasty old witch!”

If Niall had a tidbit more self-control, there would have been no possible way he would have said such a thing. All he knew was that he wanted to be as hurtful to Liam as Liam was being to him, but he could only fight with words, not brawn.

If it were just an insult hurled from a defeated foe, that would have been one thing, but Niall had remembered what Louis had told him about Mrs. Payne and the ring of truth made it all the more biting.

There was small victory in that Liam looked genuinely taken aback. But then Niall got an open-handed slap across the face that had his whole head throbbing and made tears immediately spill out of his eyes. Through the burning of his flesh, Niall had to ask himself if some part of him didn’t deserve that.

When he looked back up and his vision cleared, he saw that he was alone in the bathroom. Alone only for a moment though, for David Vaughn bumbled in and stared wide-eyed at Niall sitting on the toilet, fully dressed, but with a red cheek.

“What are you looking at?” Niall snapped at him, ashamed of his condition. He threw himself past David, nearly knocking him over in his attempt to flee the scene of his humiliation.

The musical theory test was utterly forgotten. All Niall could think about was vengeance, retribution, some way to make himself feel that he wasn’t as lowly as Liam’s behavior toward him would suggest. As he tore through his locker in a fury to get his belongings, he even had ideations of telling an adult what Liam had done to him and so that he was kicked off the team and all of his aspirations of attending Harvard were razed.

But Niall knew he would never tell the coach, or any authority figure of his torment. If he told someone, the odds of the news getting back to his parents, getting around the school, even getting back to Greg, were high. He would lose what little respect he had from his parents, more bullies would come out of the woodwork to teach the squealer a lesson, and Greg – Greg would think poorly of him. The surety of his isolation only served to infuriate Niall further.

He stormed from the school and went straight to the bike rack. Students were still milling about outside and in the halls, but Niall couldn’t bring himself to say hello to any of his friends. He was in too sour a mood to offer them the kindness they deserved and he dreaded anyone genuinely inquiring what was wrong and his having to answer them with a lie.

The lock was lodged awkwardly in the spokes of his bike and he struggled with it for a few moments before finally wrenching it free. Then, the voice that Niall had been hearing say nasty things in his head for several days now spoke outside of his head, just as nastily as Niall imagined: “Hey, faggot!”

He looked up and, all his nightmares remembered, saw Carey standing only a few feet away from him. He was flanked by Max and one of the boys who played linebacker on the school’s American football team – Brandon Acaba, or something. “Having a wittle trouble with your bittle bike? Maybe you’d like to go give me a blowjob in the car and you’d feel better!”

All the boys and a few bystanders laughed raucously.

Niall reacted from the seat of his wrath, launching himself at Carey and shoving the boy back so hard he stumbled into crossing traffic and took out two unsuspecting sophomore girls. Carey’s mortification was instantly apparent but his two large friends looked too stunned to react.

Knowing his life was pretty much forfeit as soon as everyone got over the shock of Niall Horan actually defending himself, Niall took advantage of being the only one not awed by the sudden turn of events to hop on his bicycle and start pedaling as if the Mongol hordes were at his heels.

Behind him, he could hear the boys talking as they came out of their trance, but Niall was panting too hard to make out the words. He looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see Carey and his crew running into the parking lot instead of following him. Since he could only spare a glance, he couldn’t plot their course of action, but a part of him hoped that they had perhaps been distracted. Maybe they had even seen someone smaller and weaker than Niall and were running to go pick on him.

His heart was still pounding and he had no idea what had gotten into him. He slowed his pace somewhat, trying to get himself under control.

It was while he was losing himself in the sound of the wind through the trees that he heard a car engine rev fiercely behind him.

Looking back, he saw a blue 2004 Chevy Cavalier and sure enough, behind the wheel was Max White.

Hysterical, Niall started churning the pedals faster than he ever had before, but it was useless; he couldn’t outrace a car.

The golden field was swiftly approaching on Niall’s right. It was a very real threat that the hooligans in the car might try to run him off the road and into the field, but from what he knew of them, it was more likely they would chase him to the woods before they jumped him, so they would have cover of the trees. Niall had no intention of being dragged off into a dark wood where no one could hear him scream, so he blindly dove into the field. The stalks of the reeds tangled in his spokes just as they had before, but Niall was going at a far greater rate of speed and when his bike stopped, he didn’t. Up, over the handlebars he went and he tumbled to the earth, in a lesson of how well this field could defend itself. If only Niall could defend himself half as well.

The screech of tires breaking on pavement cut the air and Niall knew any hope of hiding until everything had blown over was lost. As Niall was getting to his feet, he heard three car doors slam and Carey’s damnable voice leer, “Oh, boy – you fucked up! You fucked _up_!”

They were converging on him; Max was cracking his knuckles like some movie villain and Brandon thundered, “Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an Irishman.” As ridiculously clichéd though it was, it still made Niall’s blood run cold. Carey was less interested in theatrics and broke into a sprint the moment Niall started backing away. Spooked like a rabbit, Niall tore through the grass, toward the only thing that looked like it would offer shelter: Harry’s shack.

Oh, God.

“HELP!” Niall screamed in a less than heroic manner. “Help me!” he cried again at the top of his burning lungs. Behind him, he heard the bullies laughing at him, mimicking his cries, but Niall didn’t care.

The sound of the other boys’ feet pounding the earth behind him came ever nearer and Niall was gathering what little breath he had to bellow again when the door to the little shed wrenched open and Harry Styles emerged – but it wasn’t just Harry Styles, it was Harry Styles carrying a very large, very rusty old shovel. Even Niall’s knees went weak at the sight of it.

Still, he didn’t stop running, not even as Harry came forward, first in a slow lope, then in a more determined charge. A spurt of expletives perfumed the air from Niall’s pursuers: a milieu of ‘holy fuck’s, ‘jesus christ’s, and ‘oh, fuck me!’s. But Niall didn’t turn around to look, he just ran until he was at the shack and had procured a small but grisly looking spade with which to defend himself. Only then did he look to see what carnage had been wrought.

It could be said for Carey, Max and Brandon that they were not stupid enough to brawl unarmed against a notoriously violent man wielding a rusty shovel. All three of them had unanimously relinquished their chase of Niall and in turn, were chased back to the safety of their car.

Scaring them off was not enough for Harry. He was dogged in his pursuit of them, the shovel tucked efficiently under his arm to facilitate a swifter hunt. Niall became a bit concerned.

“Harry!” he called, feeling that Carey’s retreat could be counted a victory and fearing what he may have loosed. “Harry!”

“Go, go, go, go!” Carey was screaming at Max as they neared the car and hurled themselves inside. Even though the three would-be attackers were protected by the hard candy shell of the car, Harry still didn’t relent and he was preparing his shovel as he neared, lifting it over his head in a manner that would either do notable damage to the exterior of the car, or even more horrifying, go through one of the windows and perhaps into a person.

“HARRY, NO!” Niall bellowed forth before Harry’s momentum pulled him through on his swing. The boy hesitated just long enough to allow Max to peel out so hard, the rear of his car fishtailed.

Niall stood in the field, panting, holding his spade, watching until the Chevy Cavalier was well out of sight. The long, prickly stalks lashed at his legs as a brisk wind washed through both them and Niall’s hair, cooling his burning scalp.

He was giddy and exhausted at the same time. He could feel himself trembling and he could do nothing to stop it. He kept his eyes glued to the road, the animal part of him afraid to look away for fear the hunters would return. The spade fell from his hand, but he didn’t hear it land since the blood was still rushing through his ears. When it faded, he heard the birds singing in the woods, the wind as it rustled the grass and a few staccato notes of metal set against metal.

Then Harry was in front of him, blocking out the road and the slate grey sky beyond with apple green eyes and dark curls that wafted in the breeze. From here, Niall could see that the bruise on the side of his mouth was now morphing into the greenish yellow phase and when Harry returned to school next week, it would be gone. He was bereft of a shovel and Niall was grateful for that; the sight of it would have been very upsetting.

“I got your bike,” Harry said, looking unfazed as always. “I put it next to the house.”

“Thank you,” Niall said slowly.

There was a moment in which Niall felt rude for not moving or offering any further conversation, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it, yet. Harry didn’t seem to mind; quite the opposite, he looked rather content as he stood next to Niall, his hands in his pockets, surveying his territory. Then, the next moment, he was gone, the stretch of road was back, and the scrape of the shed door was heard. When he returned, he had something in his hand and he held it directly before Niall’s nose.

“I made this for you.”

The smell of it was fresh, cheerful and comforting. It was a tiny bouquet of dandelions that had been tied together with a broken shoestring. Niall took it in his hands reverently.

“Oh,” he said softly, a catch of wonderment in his voice. “Thank you.”

The bright, unapologetic yellow revived him and he felt his body start to thaw. In lieu of his paralysis was a weakness and that the trembling got worse was evident in the way the flowers shook where he held them against his nose.

“Come on,” Harry said, reaching for Niall’s free hand with his. “I have something I want to show you.”

The exterior of the shack looked every bit the same as it had the first time Niall had visited, but when he slipped through the door, his hand still in Harry’s, what was within was new to his eyes: Most notable was perhaps that the floor, which had been God’s bountiful firmament, was now covered with tile slabs. While there was no grout between the often broken slabs to make it a bonafide floor, the small room immediately felt more civilized. All of the tools, along with the more tattered posters, had been taken off the walls; also cleared were the dusty terra cotta pots, Rolling Stones magazines and beer cans. What tools couldn’t be removed were crowded into a corner and hidden behind a sheet. The mattress, which had been such an offense to Niall’s sensibilities, was now propped up on a tattered box spring and covered by an off-yellow sheet. Even the comforter appeared to have been washed. There wasn’t a single cobweb in the corners and the window was transparent enough to see out of. Perhaps what was most charming was the hanging philodendron plant that Harry had gone so far as to rig up to the iffy supports of the ceiling. It was healthy and green and for whatever reason, the very sight of it made Niall relax.

“Do you like it?” Harry asked.

“It looks like a—“ Niall was about to say ‘real house’, but upon recalling that Harry considered this his real house anyway, he chose instead to say, “A really nice place. It looks really nice.”

Harry didn’t smile, but Niall could tell by the way he ducked his head and pushed his hands into his hair that he was pleased. “You can put your bag down, if you want,” Harry said, making a flappy hand gesture at the foot of the bed. Niall did so, relieved to be rid of the weight and he carefully tucked his dandelion bouquet into the front pocket of his backpack where it wouldn’t get squished.

“You’re pale,” Harry noted when Niall turned back to face him. It was no surprise; Niall felt the same woozy mania as when he had a fever. He let his weight drop back onto Harry’s mattress and the landing was much softer than he had expected.

“How do you do it?” Niall blurted out after a moment.

“Do what?” Harry asked.

“Fight! Fight! Fight like that?” He dropped his head into his hands, wishing at least his guts would stop jittering about.

“I have to,” Harry said simply. Then he went to the small, dilapidated wooden dresser and pulled a plastic water bottle from the top drawer. “Here. It’s old, but it’s water.”

On the side of it were printed the words, “Snowmass Ski Resort: Aspen Colorado,” and had the logo of a teal aspen leaf.

“You go skiing?” Niall asked, taking a sip through the thick plastic straw and only now realizing how badly he needed hydration. Harry was right: Niall could taste how old the water was by how it had taken on the flavor of the plastic it was in.

“Not anymore.”

“But you used to?”

“Sometimes.”

“You get to the mountains much?”

“Sometimes.”

“Hiking?”

“Camping.”

“Harry, you wouldn’t really have hit them with that shovel, would you?”

The boy blinked dumbly, brushing the locks from his forehead. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t think about it.”

“Harry, you could have killed them!”

“They were going to hurt you!”

This brought up a question of morality that was so rudimentary, if Harry didn’t inherently understand it for himself, Niall wasn’t certain he could elucidate it. “Harry, you can’t – You can’t do that, you can’t…”

“I know,” Harry said, and his voice was harsh and final like an iron door being slammed shut. His face was turned away from Niall and the Irishman got the impression that many people had repeatedly tried explaining this to Harry in the past and the boy had resolutely no interest in hearing it again.

In the awkward silence that followed, Niall clamped his mouth down around the hard plastic straw and chewed, while Harry, instead of sitting next to Niall on the bed, curled onto the floor at his feet. It was such a strange, subservient thing to do that Niall had to ask, “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why’re you – Well, all of this. Why are you so…” Obsessed? Fascinated? Interested? It was hard to find a word that didn’t sound narcissistic, so he redirected his question, “Why me? Why do you want to be my friend?”

Harry had his legs crossed and was looking up at him like a child watching cartoons, so when he said, “Because I like you. I like you a lot,” there was something very sweet and almost innocent about it.

“You don’t even know me,” Niall said, chewing on the straw self-consciously again.

“Yes, I do,” Harry rebuked straightforwardly.

“No, you don’t! I haven’t even been here a full mo—“ But his voice trailed off. He certainly hadn’t forgotten that Harry had read his journal, but it took a moment for his mind to realize the full ramifications of what that meant; it meant that Harry knew more about him than any other person alive.

He swallowed and let the straw fall away from his lips.

“It’s not fair,” he muttered a little stiffly. “It’s not fair that you know everything about me and I don’t know anything about you.”

Harry’s eyes left him a little guiltily, as if he had given that some thought himself and had come to the same conclusion.

“Please?” Niall pleaded softly, so hungry for something gentle and generous. “Please tell me something about you.”

Harry shrugged, awkward at having this pointed attention on him and he picked at the dry skin on his lips a little nervously. “What do you wanna know?”

There was so much Niall wanted to know about Harry, it was hard to focus on what was the most pressing at the moment. One had to find the end of a thread to begin to unravel a knot and Niall plucked at the first one that came to mind:

“Um,” he fumbled. “Tell me… I want… Did you really break every window of principal Blakely’s car?”

“Are people saying that?”

“Yeah,” Niall insisted.

A frown settled into Harry’s features and he answered, “No. Just the driver’s side window.”

Niall wasn’t terribly comforted. “Why? Why did you do it?”

Harry’s frown worsened and his eyes became hard. He said nothing but glared darkly at Niall’s knee as if his memories had taken him somewhere else.

“… Harry?”

“He said something about my mom.”

Niall promptly got the sense that he’d ventured into dangerous territory. To navigate back to safety, he asked, “Did you really break some kid’s jaw?”

“Which kid?”

“I don’t know – some kid at school.”

Harry scooted a little closer to the bed and started picking the thistles out of the shoelaces of Niall’s sneakers. A small wrinkle bisected Harry’s eyebrows as he concentrated. When his mind alit on the information he was seeking, he said simply, “Yes.”

“Oh…” Niall watched Harry fuss with his shoes, wondering how such powerful, vicious hands could be so capable of such delicate work. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t remember,” Harry said softly. When Niall’s laces were thistle-free, Harry stuffed the small, bristly tufts into the cracks between the stones of his floor.

Niall couldn’t believe he was actually getting Harry Styles to talk. Granted, he wasn’t exactly offering up anecdotes or elucidating on the subtleties of each of the scenarios, but Niall was actually getting information from the source and it was invigorating.

“How did you… How did you get away with that?”

“Get away with it?” Harry asked, looking up, wincing as if Niall’s interrogation burned like the sun.

“Yeah, like… How did you get away with not going to jail?”

“I didn’t. I went to juvie.”

“Bloody hell.” There was so much information coming so fast, Niall wasn’t sure what to follow up on. He was dying to know about ‘juvie’ – what it was and what it was like, but he had a checklist of rumors in mind he felt compelled to address first. “What about the Akerman sisters? Did you really hold them at knifepoint and make them take off all their clothes?”

The expression on Harry’s face was rather priceless; he gawped like a goldfish, affronted. “Who said that?”

“It’s just the gossip,” Niall shrugged apologetically and Harry just shook his head in disgust.

“That’s not what happened.”

“So – tell me.”

Harry glanced up at Niall as if to determine whether it was really worth spilling his secrets to the person on his bed. Then he tucked his knees up and hugged them with those arms that were perpetually covered in long sleeved T’s and adorned with thick, leather bracelets. He was breathing oddly, shallowly and unevenly.

“She – It was Sarah. She took me to her house, once. We were going to have sex. But she just started saying shit.”

“Yeah?” Niall asked softly, trying to keep Harry’s momentum going, but not to derail him.

“Just bad shit. She liked me but she didn’t want anyone to know that we fucked – how she was gonna still treat me like shit at school, but I shouldn’t get mad.”

“And?”

“And I got mad,” Harry shrugged.

“What did you do?” Niall asked, calming his anticipation of violence by reminding himself that he had seen Sarah Akerman at school alive and well and, as far as he could tell, completely unscarred.

“I broke her mirror and tried to leave. She didn’t want me to. She was pushing me. She just kept yelling at me.” Apparently Harry realized that Niall wouldn’t stop prodding him until the entirety of the story was out, because he took a deep breath and concluded, “Her sister came home and when she saw us, she called me a rapist. I don’t know where the whole knife thing came in. It wasn’t – It wasn’t at all like … _that_.”

Harry looked nervous. He wasn’t looking at Niall, no doubt for fear of the other boy’s judgment.

“I believe you,” Niall said softly. He had seen for himself the way stories were reflected through the fun house mirror of gossip. He also knew that Harry was everyone’s favorite villain.

Relief washed over the other boy and Niall saw it in the way the tension around his mouth relaxed. “Thanks.”

In just a few questions, Niall felt suddenly that he was in the presence of the unfathomable. Never in his wildest imagination would he have envisioned a world in which students vandalized teacher’s cars, boys and girls frequently had casual sex, and boys regularly busted other boys’ jaws apart. And yet, Niall realized with a shock, this was his world, now. It was both invigorating and petrifying.

“Harry?” Niall prodded again.

The addressed responded with a noncommittal, “Mm,” knowing another question was coming.

“When… When was the first time you had sex?”

In response, Niall received a brief, cat eyed glare, but he was too addicted to the catechizing to realize he may have pulled the cat’s tail one too many times.

When the hush lasted a beat too long, Niall prodded, “Was it – Was it with a girl? Or a boy?”

A huff. “A girl. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why? Was it bad? Did somebody—“

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Harry barked, his hands curled into fists against his elbows. Then he dropped his forehead on his folded arms and took several deep, calming breaths as if trying to draw himself off a rage.

As for Niall, the silence accused him. The shock of being yelled at brought him back to himself and the sideshow-attraction fascination through which he’d been interrogating Harry had dispersed. Niall had to face a man whose hardships were far more than titillating curiosities and deserved to be treated as such.

“I’m sorry,” Niall said nervously. “I’m sorry. I just – I don’t know anyone like you. I won’t pry anymore. I’m sorry.”

When Harry didn’t lift his head, Niall carefully scooted closer to the edge of the bed so he could reach him. “It’s alright,” he murmured, very warily stroking down Harry’s arm. “I won’t ask you anymore questions, I promise.”

Abruptly, Harry emerged, plucked Niall’s hand from where it rested on his elbow and pressed a soft kiss into it before dropping his forehead onto it and hiding again. Niall was startled but heartened. From here, he saw strange scars on Harry’s hands: strange nicks scattered along his knuckles and a few fine, razor cuts between them. Asking about them was on the tip of Niall’s tongue, but wiser judgment prevailed. He suddenly wanted very much to have Harry resurface and to encourage him to do so, he found himself babbling:

“I guess I’ve been sheltered. I never realized how sheltered I really was – am. Back in Mullingar, nothing terribly bad ever happened. I remember some kid stole a sweet from a newsagent’s in broad daylight and it made the papers.” Niall had to laugh softly; that must have sounded ludicrous to Harry, but the other boy didn’t lift his head from where it was bowed against Niall’s hand. In a further attempt to soothe, Niall let his thumb stroke over Harry’s wrist gently as he continued, “I can only remember two fights my entire time in school – and one kid who always mouthed off to the teacher. He called her a ‘pox bottle’ once. Made my year.”

That actually got a response. Harry looked up at him, his mouth twisted in befuddled amusement. “A what?”

“Pox bottle. But don’t let me catch you repeating that.”

“You won’t,” Harry nuzzled his hand. “I still don’t know what the fuck you’re saying.”

“That’s probably for the best. The biggest scandal I ever saw at school was when Mick and Jennifer were cheating on Allison and Tom behind their backs. Because, see, Jennifer and Allison were best friends. So it was really dramatic,” Niall insisted, knowing that every day, things happened at Jefferson Valley High that blew the spectacles of Mullingar out of the water. “But no one ever got their jaw knocked off. Or their tooth knocked out,” he added, recalling that first, horrible fight he saw, where it was three against one. “I really don’t know what I’m doing here,” Niall concluded, his voice deepening as he spoke more truly. “I mean, I really don’t know what I’m doing – here.” The second time he said it, it was more immediate, even though he didn’t intend for it to be. But how he came to be in the school bully’s shack, swapping intimate words with him and wondering how silky his curls were was a bit of a mystery.

Harry was looking at him in that way that suggested he had understood and considered every word of Niall’s yammering. For how reluctant he was to speak, and how slow and deliberate he was when he finally did, Harry was a remarkable listener. No doubt he heard the import behind Niall’s last statement, and although it wasn’t spoken as they sat there, staring into each other’s faces, there was no doubt Harry heard the answer.

Niall did, too, and when Harry unfolded his lengthy form to move between Niall’s knees, Niall met him halfway with a soft, exploratory kiss. Over the past few days, he had often tried to recall the feeling of Harry’s lips on his own, but those frail remembrances paled in comparison to the real thing. It made his eyes swoon closed and, to his embarrassment, he moaned.

Harry went slowly with him as if remembering his promise to teach him the intricacies of kissing. The result was something so steamy and rich, Niall felt that bright glow below his belly button start to burn and his blood turned gold in his veins, thick and sparkling.

Things became more intoxicating when Harry’s broad, heavy hands started stroking slowly up and down Niall’s thighs, catching on the fabric of his jeans. As for Niall, he didn’t know what he should do with his hands. Experimentally, he curled his fingers against the waffled fabric of the long-sleeved undershirt Harry was wearing. Sensing Niall’s timidity, Harry took hold of Niall’s wrist and tucked it under the two layers of shirts he wore so Niall’s hand was flat against his tummy. Electricity went through Niall’s fingertips where he touched Harry’s skin, which was so unexpectedly smooth and the muscles beneath so predictably hard and ropey. Gaining confidence, Niall pressed further, stroking his hand up, over the pronounced ribs, to the swell of Harry’s pectoral, where he felt the hard nub of Harry’s nipple pressing into his sensitive palm.

When he looked back at Harry’s face, he saw the other boy blinking slowly like a happy cat before surging forward to take Niall’s lips in a passionate kiss again. Then Harry tucked his legs beneath Niall’s on the mattress, which tipped him back against the wall of the shack, their lips never parting for more than a second.

“Harry,” Niall panted into their kiss. This was going a bit fast for him, but his hormones were demanding he keep charging forward, particularly when Harry hoisted Niall’s knees up over his hips and brought their groins together.

“Mmm,” Harry returned, leaving Niall’s lips to suck on the lobe of his ear. The arousal that pulsed to his groin was so intense it made Niall buck his hips in Harry’s lap and his face go slack and stupid. Any protest that may have been forthcoming died before it could be voiced and Niall’s second hand joined his first, diving under Harry’s shirt and stroking down his sculpted torso.

Noting Niall’s fascination with his body, Harry pulled away just enough to strip his upper body bare in one grand gesture. What was underneath was so intriguing, Niall lifted himself up on his elbows to get a better look.

The light that came in from the windows of the shack was pale and dying, but it was enough to make out the strange shapes and forms tattooed on Harry’s body. He was a bit like a human sketch pad – his right arm looked like some bored doodler had got ahold of him. It was complete with things that had been scribbled out and words that had been misspelled. There were blots and oddly formed monsters, shapeless scrawls, and a few fuck ugly birds. His left arm was better – at least there was a discernable pirate ship and a few letters in what looked like Hebrew. The rest were strange mottos, initials, and logos that Niall didn’t recognize.

Most remarkable, however, was his chest: swooping across his collarbones were two rather saccharine doves and spanning the breadth of his ribs, just below his pecs, was an enormous butterfly.

“Have you always had these?” Niall asked, trailing his fingertips over the butterfly’s wings, too lust-dazed to be able to form a proper question.

“No,” Harry said, enchanted by Niall’s enchantment.

“I like—“ Niall bit his lip, “I like the butterfly.”

Harry’s eyes were glued to Niall’s mouth when he said that and only had space to breathe, “It’s a moth,” before swooping in and taking Niall’s mouth captive with kisses once again. Niall whimpered and his toes curled in his ratty, hand-me-down trainers.

Niall was pawing hungrily at Harry now that he knew he could. He wanted to touch him everywhere, explore everything and delighted in the feeling of the hard planes of his back flexing beneath his palms and measuring the width of his shoulders.

They kissed and in so doing, Niall received one hell of an education. He learned the art of passionate kisses, of playful kisses, of searing kisses and smoldering kisses. He learned how to kiss lightly and coyly and how to make a kiss deep and demanding. He learned Harry’s mouth, the things that made him sigh, what made him squirm, what made him roll his hips against Niall’s.

He was brought out of his delirium when Harry stroked up Niall’s back until the other boy had no option but to lift his arms and let Harry strip his shirt off him. Niall wasn’t built like Harry – he was skinnier, paler, and certainly had no interesting graffiti, but Harry looked him over as if he was the most intoxicating bit of flesh he’d ever seen. It was such a glance that cut straight through Niall’s self-consciousness and went straight to his cock.

Harry must have seen it in his eyes, because he took hold of his head and pulled him into a searing kiss that left Niall breathless and seeing stars. Then he was being manhandled by demanding, powerful hands and Niall was more than willing to give up control of himself to someone so capable. He was lifted off the back wall where he’d been leaning and Harry laid him out properly on the bed before stretching the length of his body out atop him.

Niall felt like his cock had been hard his entire life when Harry undid his zipper and reached inside. All the same, when he felt that powerful hand close around him, he gasped and sat up a little, saying rather sharply, “Harry--!”

But then Harry was there, his plump, sultry mouth pressing kisses into his neck, behind his ear and whispering so sweetly, “Shhhhh…” He hushed and soothed the smaller boy until Niall calmed enough to lift his hips so Harry could tug the pants down below his bum. Once completely bare, Niall started to curl up, his hand folding over his hard cock and he almost pulled away, but Harry took hold of his knee and gradually unfolded him, nuzzling all over him, cooing softly, “Shhhhhhh…”

“Harry…” Niall said guardedly.

“I wanna make you feel good,” Harry purred as he kissed across his sweaty hairline. “Let me make you feel good…”

Niall was panting hard. He had imagined his first time to be so very different than this, but by god, since he was eight years old, he knew he hungered for the touch of another boy and no boy had ever been forthcoming until now.

“I wanna make you come,” Harry growled into Niall’s neck and, Jesus, what self-respecting, horny gay boy could say no to that? When Harry pulled on his wrist, Niall released his grip and he gave himself up to those experienced, skillful hands.

His jaw dropped open and he let out the ghostiest warble when Harry started to stroke him. He braced himself on Harry’s shoulders and his eyes fell shut as his hips curled as expertly as if he’d been fucking for half his life.

When he finally had sense enough to gasp for air, he opened his eyes and saw Harry watching him with ravenous intensity. Their eyes locked and Niall couldn’t look away – he was pinned and made perfect through that gaze and if Harry kept looking at him like that he was gonna… gonna…

“I’m gonna—“ he choked out and Harry immediately went into action, abandoning Niall’s cock only for a moment to get to hasty, fumbling work on his own jeans. As frustrated as Niall was by being left as he neared the pivotal moment, he was equally curious to see another boy aroused and naked.

Harry’s cock was like the rest of him, oversized, aggressive, demanding. Niall nearly choked at the sight of it. Then Harry was lowering himself onto Niall again and that incredible pole was throbbing hard against Niall’s own. Just when Niall thought he was going to come from that alone, Harry closed his huge hand around the both of them and started to rub them together.

Niall’s thighs naturally fell open wider and he pushed up into Harry’s hand, feeling the furnace inside him blaze out of control when Harry stroked their mixed precum over both of them and made the glide even more exquisite.

To his embarrassment, Niall didn’t last much longer. His fingertips gouged into Harry’s shoulders and he came with a strangled moan as he spilled all over himself, hard enough to hit his nipples. He heard a dark, thunderous growl come out of the man above him and then Niall felt his chest and tummy get hit again in long, hot splashes.

Niall’s lungs were burning just as they had when he’d run for soccer practice. His head was throbbing with the aftershocks of his orgasm and he felt like nothing in the world could touch him. Something did, though; it was Harry, kissing over his forehead and down his nose to where he finally landed on Niall’s lips.

Their kisses were slow, this time – drowsy. In fact, Niall made himself roll over onto his side so he didn’t even have to strain to keep his lips in kissing distance of the other boy’s. Their kisses were so leisurely, and his orgasm had been so good, Niall almost started to doze. But he was brought back to the present when his lover whispered low, “Did you like it?”

Only able to open his eyes to half-mast, Niall muttered truthfully, “Yeah…”

“Come see me again.”

Niall ducked his head. He wanted to say ‘no’. Deep in his guts he could feel the guilt of knowing he could never give Harry what he wanted. He felt the betrayal of his own ideology that he would never have sex with someone he didn’t love. He felt shallow and base and even a little cruel.

“Ok.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”


	15. The Autumn Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. Many thanks to my wise and patient beta who makes sure I don't sound too much the Yank :) As always, your comments and shares fuel for my inspiration.

When Niall got home from practice on Friday night, he was surprised to walk into his room and hear his computer make unexpected, but telltale bleeping noises. He flung his school things onto the bed and wrenched the lid of his laptop open.

Sure enough, the Skype software was running and alight on the screen were Niall’s two favorite words: Greg Horan. He fumbled with the mouse to get it positioned over the proper button and clicked on it as fast as he could.

As soon as his brother’s face filled the screen, Niall just screamed in delight, his arms flung over his head. He started laughing hard when he saw his older brother do the exact same thing at the sight of him.

“What the fuck?” Niall yelled, ineloquent in his glee.

“You little wanker!” Greg yelled back.

Niall’s hands tingled with the urge to shove his brother around and then squeeze the stuffing out of him and he could tell by the way Greg was bouncing in his chair that he wanted to do the same.

The small window into his brother’s life offered a view of his apartment that left much to the imagination. The computer’s camera was angled up, so he only really got a good view of the ceiling and what was up his brother’s nostrils. But even from this angle, it was clear that Greg Horan was a handsome man. Everything about him was manly; his strong jaw to his friendly blue eyes, the way the stubble perfectly framed his face. As much as he loved his brother, looking at him at times reminded Niall of his own shortcomings.

“Finally caught you!” Greg laughed, “Ma says you’re always out with friends!”

“Eghn,” Niall shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, but actually feeling quite fancy about the whole having-friends-and-after-school-activities thing. He situated himself in his desk chair and settled in for a proper chat. “I got on the footie team, is all. I just got back from practice.”

“How’s that going?” Greg leaned forward. “Niall, that’s great. And perfectly well deserved, I might add. Teaching those Yanks how to do it properly?”

“Hell yeah,” Niall laughed, feeling a twinge over the fact that he gave a remarkably poor performance this evening. He had been the butt of several jokes. “How’s London?”

“You know – everyone here is pretty miserable all the time, but uni’s alright. You’re doing well over there?”

Niall hesitated. “Yeah.”

Greg blinked once, twice, three times. “Out with it.”

“What?”

“You’re not happy, I can tell.”

“What do you mean?”

“You do this sort of micro-pout. It’s on your face for less than a second, but you can’t hide it, not from me.”

“No, I’m fine,” Niall insisted as sincerely as he could. “Tell me about uni.”

Listening to his brother talk about university lit Niall right up. Apparently, Greg had a large group of friends (which was no surprise) who were prone to playing pranks and generally disturbing the peace, in as congenial a way as possible. Niall’s favorite anecdote by far was how Greg’s hall realized they would never run low on beer if they kept telling the other halls they were going to host a huge party with tons of girls.

“You can only run that scam once per hall,” Greg pointed out. “But, seriously, these wankers bring over enough beer to keep us lush for months.”

Niall was rosy-cheeked with laughing. “Don’t they get angry?”

“Nah,” Greg honked, “We share.”

Niall tried to tell him as much about Jefferson Valley as he could, intentionally glossing over the most salient points. With leaving out Harry and the bullying, Niall almost felt that he didn’t have much at all to say. He could only make playing board games and video games with Hannah and Zayn so interesting.

“So, tell me, Niall,” Greg smiled knowingly, “The lasses falling over themselves for your cute accent?”

Niall tried not to blush, but his brother knew exactly how to goad him. And worse, whenever Greg was around, Niall always felt like he was seven years old again, which provided him both the comfort of having someone who adored him to look up to and the embarrassment of feeling like he hadn’t grown into a man, yet.

“They like it, yeah,” he said, stupidly.

“Of course they do!” Greg laughed. “And what of them? Anyone catch your eye?”

Niall didn’t want to do what he had done every single time when asked that question previously, which was to shrug as casually as he could and say ‘nah.’ Not that Greg would pry; in fact, he always replied with, “Don’t worry. The right girl is right around the corner,” which Niall knew was intended to be comforting, even though it lodged him more firmly in the closet.

“There is someone – yeah,” Niall said, feeling as though he was taking his life in his hands.

Greg looked like a stiff wind would’ve knocked him over. “Well, fuck me,” he said, dead impressed. “Tell me about her. What’s her name?”

Niall wiggled. “Louise.”

“Louise! I like it! What’s she look like?”

Confetti burst in Niall’s tummy when he constructed an image of Louis in his mind’s eye. “Brown hair, beautiful blue eyes – smiles a lot,” Niall grinned, unaware of how his cheeks looked pinker, his eyes looked brighter and even his ears perked up a little bit when talking about his crush. Greg noticed it, and laughed his warm, manly laugh.

“She sounds perfect!”

“Yeah,” Niall confirmed. “Likes football, too. A lot.”

“She know you’re keen?”

Niall wilted somewhat. “No. Not – I don’t know if that’ll… work out.”

“Why wouldn’t it? She’d be lucky to have you!”

Whenever Greg said things like that, Niall actually felt a glimmer of hope that it might be true. “Maybe. No. I don’t know.”

Greg studied him a moment, nodding as if he approved. “You can have a bit more confidence, you know. You’re my baby brother after all, and a catch at that. If she wouldn’t have you, she’s just not worthy of you.”

“Thanks,” Niall barely more than whispered, feeling his brother’s words warm and soothe the jagged places inside him. “Ma says you found someone.”

Blood brothers as they were, Greg went as glittery as a peacock at the mention of it. “Yeah! Her name’s Torey! In fact…” Greg looked over his shoulder where Niall assumed there was a door of some sort, “You want to meet her?”

“Sure!” Niall said, equal parts interested in meeting the person that made his brother so happy, and disappointed at having his conversation interrupted.

“Torey!” Greg yelled, then smiled back at the camera when he heard rustling in the other room. “She’s coming!” he said excitedly. Niall laughed.

The person who came into view a few moments later was not what Niall had been expecting. Greg, as a man both physically attractive and interpersonally engaging, generally attracted that elusive 1% of women that were impressive scholastically, but who would also be mistaken for runway models. The woman who appeared before him now had pretty ginger hair, an aquiline nose that, from the front, looked a bit like dripping wax and two brown, owlish eyes that were too close together. In short, she was homely.

“Hello!” she hallooed, her Geordie accent thick and her thin-lipped smile broad. “Look at this!” she said in wonder. “Are all the Horan men this devilish handsome?”

Niall immediately liked her. “Hiya,” he said, waving a little. “Nice to meet you. And yes – all handsome.” The brothers beamed at each other.

“Greg has told me so much about you!” she said, making herself comfortable on her boyfriend’s lap and Greg so joyfully gave her a squidge.

“Did he?”

“Of course!” she replied. “He’s so proud of you! Staying in school, getting on the footie team. I’d be right chuffed if you were my baby brother.”

Niall ran a hand through his hair self-consciously and burbled, “Thanks.”

“I met this one in my business ethics class. She’s an ace,” Greg said, smiling against her shoulder.

“That class was boring us to tears. We saved each other with flirting.”

Their obvious adoration for each other would’ve been sickening if it weren’t for that Niall was so happy for his brother. He could only fantasize a day in which he was calling Greg, Louis sitting in his lap and the pair of them telling stories of how they met while being nauseatingly in love.

Torey was funny. She asked him pretty much all the same small talk questions Greg had, but always with a cheeky spin. When Niall told her about football practice – soccer in America – she asked him if they still knew to kick the balls with their feet. When he mentioned his father said he couldn’t drive until they were out of the house, Torey was quick to point out he didn’t want to learn in America anyway, because they drove on the wrong side of the road. And it was Torey that eventually wheedled it out of him that things weren’t going terribly well on the footie team.

“They’re like machines over here,” he told them, a hint of dismay in his voice. “When they run laps, they don’t jog, they actually sprint. I swear, they’re sprinting. And when they do sprints, they go at light-speed.”

The couple snickered, but Greg looked at Torey and said, “What? No witty rejoinder?”

Torey put her hands on her cheeks and snorted, “There are so many options, I don’t know which one to choose!”

“Just keep working hard,” Greg nodded at him. “You’ll get there, I promise.”

“What are you doing this weekend, Niall?”

That was a good question. He had planned a hike with Hannah and Zayn – which he really knew was Hannah’s attempt at a date with Zayn and Zayn had invited him along as a buffer.

“Not much – you?”

“Torey’s dad works in the country as a contractor. He was kind enough to put us up so we could have a getaway over the weekend.”

“Wow,” Niall laughed a little. “That’s cool. You guys are lucky.”

“You’re welcome to join us!” Torey insisted. “Especially if you wanted to pick up a few euros doing some construction work – they’re building like ants out there.”

“God, I’d love to,” Niall swooned. “But, y’know – school and all that.”

“We should probably go – it’s 2 am over here,” Greg said with a heartwarming smile that would linger and offer Niall comfort throughout the upcoming days. “But it was so good to see you.”

“You, too! Call any time.”

“I will and Niall – you know you can call me, right? Even if it’s 4 am over here, if you need me, call me.”

“I will,” Niall confirmed, knowing well he wouldn’t.

He traded sincere ‘nice to meet you’s with Torey, who also blew him a kiss and after a few more prolonged farewells, Skype went dark. Niall closed the lid of his laptop with a small clack and stared at the empty space between his eyes and the wall.

~*~

The atmosphere at the gold field was a meteorological anomaly. No matter how warm or cold the day seemed to be while he rode his bike through the small streets of his small town, whenever he got to that field, it was an entirely autumnal climate.

He had tried to sneak out early that morning. It was 9 am when he slunk into the kitchen, made two magnificent ham and cheddar sandwiches, and packed them into his backpack. He had almost absconded without detection, but as he neared the garage, he heard his mother call, “Niall? Is that you?”

“Yes,” he called back, hoping she didn’t want anything. She appeared in the hall, still in her nightgown, her hair tied up in a bandana.

“Some of the girls from the gym are coming over in the afternoon, so try not to be here, ok?”

“Ok,” Niall huffed, knowing full well that he wanted to watch middle aged women gallivanting in spandex as much as middle aged women gallivanting in spandex wanted to be seen by immature teen boys. “Bye,” he said, hoping that would put an end to it, but no: “Niall?”

“Yeah, ma?”

“Tell Louis to come over this week. He was such a nice boy. I’m so pleased to see you have friends like that.”

Niall took a few deep breaths. “I’ll see if he can, ma.”

“Oh, good. Let me know, maybe I’ll bake something special.”

Watching the stalks of the field change color in the wind helped erase the irritation of his mother’s goading as well as the irritation at the warm feeling he received from her approval. When he was fully fortified, he dove forward and noted how deftly he’d managed to navigate it, now. He was learning how Harry had walked through it so gracefully that day: any sort of force and the grasses would push back, bite even. But if you walked slowly and steadily, they would let you pass, and even agree to having a bike dragged through them if you went lightly enough.

He hadn’t seen Harry since their encounter on Tuesday. In fact, throughout the week, Niall had made many promises to himself to never come back again. However, he had given Harry his oath he would return and he knew how Harry could be when he thought someone was breaking a vow. And, of course, Niall was anxious to agree on terms for when Harry came back to school on Monday. That was why he was peeking into Harry’s shack right now – at least, that’s what he told himself.

To his surprise, Niall found it empty. The shack was dark and still and chilly, befitting with the personality of the rest of the field. The bed was unmade, but cold and Niall realized there was no way Harry could actually spend the night out here without his blood freezing in his veins.

With a sigh, Niall flopped down on the musty mattress. He decided he would wait for a half an hour and if Harry didn’t show by then, he would call Zayn and see if he would go play with him on the jungle gym across from the school. High schoolers weren’t supposed to be there, but on weekends, Niall was told, the rules were a bit more relaxed.

He wasn’t intending to doze, but there was a stillness next to the woods that Niall had never known in his life. He could hear his heart beat, even hear the wind as it seeped through the cracks in the shack’s walls. It was so tranquil and lulling that Niall fell into a catnap, more relaxed than he had ever been in his own bed.

He woke a short while later to a strange, scratching sound. It crept into the peripheral of his awareness, but eventually nagged him enough to bring him to wakefulness. The sound was faint, but close and he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes to try to find it.

At first he saw nothing. The shack was exactly as it had been when he’d fallen asleep. He waited, his breath captive in his throat and suddenly the noise happened again: Thwack, scratch, thwack.

It was coming from the dresser: the bottom drawer had rotted enough to make a small hole in the front panel and two grey, furry little paws flashed out, clawed and capered around, then disappeared as swiftly as they had come.

“What the bloody--?”

The drawer was open about six inches and when Niall investigated, he was caught in the beam of two wild, apple green eyes of a grey tabby kitten who really thought she was on to something. She wasn’t quite full grown, but was definitely on the brink of adulthood. Her fur was dull and dirty and she was far too skinny, but she was full of youthful enthusiasm and let out a high pitched, “Maaaaaa!” at the sight of him, before aggressively making another attempt at whatever invisible mote she imagined was hovering just on the other side of the hole.

Niall’s insides turned to cuddly pudding. Although his mother raised him better, he couldn’t resist the urge to reach into the drawer and pull the tiny, wiggling creature to his chest. She protested by digging her claws into the blanket that had been folded into the bottom of the drawer, but Niall patiently unhooked the little daggers and gave her a squeeze.

“Oh my god, hi,” he cooed. The kitten was clearly content to be in his arms on her back, but she was too fascinated with exploring what the shack looked like upside down to find Niall of much interest.

That was when Harry came in. He looked a wreck: bags under his faraway eyes, his hair a mess, all of him awash with the staleness of someone who hasn’t showered or changed his clothes in a few days. His eyebrows lifted in surprise at the sight of Niall, especially at the sight of Niall holding a grey kitten.

“I – Sorry, I shouldn’t have barged in,” Niall said, rising and holding the kitten defensively to his chest. But Harry seemed to come back to himself.

“It’s alright,” he muttered, even his voice sounding tired. “That’s Maisie.”

Niall looked down at the cat. Her paws were curling and flexing in a slow rhythm and her head was flung back over Niall’s elbow; she was purring and her eyes were fixed on Harry when she wasn’t blinking them slowly in a lovey stupor.

“Maisie?”

“She’s my cat.”

‘And he has a shack in the woods where he tortures kittens.’ Hannah’s words came back to him like the crack of a whip and he felt a sudden flair of panic. But, he realized once his reptilian mind had slowed somewhat, he was being entirely fucking stupid. There was no way that a man who kittified the bottom drawer of a dresser, equipped it with a baby blanket and bowls for food and water, was also going to be torturing that kitten later.

Also, the way Harry’s face went dopey and sweet as he scratched her little head did much to put Niall at ease.

“I found her in the woods. Her momma got eaten by a wolf or something.”

Maisie seemed to have gotten over the incident, for now she was stretching her arms out above her head, slowly dripping out of Niall’s arms. When she landed, it was on silent paws and she took a moment to rub on Harry’s leg before trotting gamely out the open door, her tail to the sky.

“You – is it ok if she goes out?”

Harry nodded. “She comes and goes.”

There was a pregnant pause in which Niall was trying to decide if he should ask Harry why he looked like hell, offer him a sandwich, or maybe dive into the topics of discussion he had prepared to bring before him, but Harry seemed to have other plans.

Then, as if he had loosed the caged animal that had been raring to be free since he saw Niall standing in his house, Harry took a handful of Niall’s hair, crushed his body against him and kissed him passionately.

This was no ‘hello’ kiss. This was an ‘I’ve gone more insane every second you were away’ kiss.

“Harry, wait,” Niall gasped in the fleeting instance in which his mouth wasn’t occupied by Harry’s tongue. It wasn’t that he was opposed to Harry’s sensuous lips all over him, it was simply that he had come here with a specific agenda and Harry was derailing that agenda as easily as he manhandled Niall’s shirt up over his head.

“Harry,” Niall tried again as the bigger boy crowded him back onto the bed. Niall instinctively scooted back to the wall to make space. “I wanted to talk to you –“

“Later,” Harry crawled after him. “I need to make you come.”

Niall had no idea that could possibly be a need that extended to anyone outside of himself. It was an erotic shock to realize that it was, and that it was a goal that others would drive at with such fervor.

A giddiness washed through Niall’s body when Harry unzipped his fly and stripped his pants entirely off him. He was eager to feel again what he had felt those few days ago the first time Harry touched him. He’d been unable to stop thinking about it – primarily when he was on the football field, watching Louis watching them, wondering if his cock would be as big, if he would take hold of Niall as forcefully or if – oh, god – if Louis would let Niall manhandle him exactly as Harry was, now.

That skillful, knowing hand milked Niall and made him chirp in high, breathy squeaks. “That’s – Harry…” He didn’t want to come before he got a glimpse of Harry’s monster again. Timidly, he stroked a hand over the hot, tantalizing bulge between Harry’s thighs and the boy pulled away long enough to let him concentrate on unzipping him without injury.

His hands fumbled and when he reached inside, he could feel himself accidently smoosh Harry’s balls which made him groan and wince.

“Sorry,” Niall said immediately, feeling foolish and guilty.

Harry didn’t reply, but only kissed his lover’s forehead in a pointed gesture of forgiveness. Niall could only hope that, with enough practice, he could avoid such amateur mistakes and in his subconscious mind he was planning to get that experience with Harry, so when he finally got together with Louis, it would be refined into expertise.

There were no further incidents in Niall retrieving Harry’s cock from his pants and Harry must have seen the fascination in Niall’s eyes, because he relaxed into the mattress and opened his hips to let Niall explore him. Harry was of such an impressive size that Niall would’ve fallen victim to cock envy, if he wasn’t more excited that Harry actually let him play with it. Niall had spent plenty of time on the internet looking at various kinds of porn, and he couldn’t help but think Harry’s looked an awful lot like the fanciful drawings he’d seen in dirty comics. The head was bulbous and smooth, a perfect, slick umbrella over the thick, veiny shaft, and the seam that came up from under his heavy balls to the tip of his shaft was perfectly straight and deep.

“Yours is… You have a nice one,” he said innocently, sincerely.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good with it,” Harry purred, nuzzling him. Then, with those bear paws he had, he was pushing at Niall’s shoulders, rotating him so he was face down on the mattress.

“Harry—“

“Shhhh.”

Soft kisses feathered down his spine and sent tendrils of pleasure spiraling through his body – it even made the inside of his wrists tingle. He made a soft noise when Harry delved into the crevice of his arse while urging his hips upward with his hands.

“Harry—“

“Shhh,” was the same reply, but muffled now, for how deeply he was nestled between Niall’s pale cheeks. When a slippery tongue probed at Niall’s virgin gateway, he jerked sharply and let out a soft, curious mew. Harry was undeterred and slowly sunk his tongue through the tight pucker, making Niall fist the cheap, greasy sheets beneath him and buck gently with his hips.

“Oh, God,” he burbled, so aroused, but aware of a small needle of doubt that was trying to be heard above the buzz of raging hormones. He was in a full pant when Harry started pumping his tongue in and out of him and he was startled by how he felt his hole start to give -- even more startled by how the slight ache of discomfort was just as arousing as the pleasure.

Niall was beginning to wonder how long he could endure this without needing more when he felt Harry’s tongue disappear and in its place, a blunt, much less forgiving digit. When it worked inside him, the sensation was strange, not altogether unpleasant, but that small voice suddenly became a roar and Niall was bucking for different reasons.

“No!” Niall yelped, lifting himself onto his knees and rolling over onto his backside. “No, Harry, I can’t – I can’t do that with you…”

Harry was crouched, index finger still pointing in the air, a confused and frustrated expression on his face. “What?”

“I can’t – I can’t do _that_. Not with you.”

The frustrated confusion was abruptly replaced by hurt anger. “Why not?” he scowled.

“Because I don’t – You should only do that with someone you really love.” It was so strange to say it out loud and Niall chided himself for how naïve and patronizing he must have sounded to Harry.

“Who told you that?” the other boy hissed, his face the pout of a petulant child.

“It’s – No one. No one, Harry, I just… I believe it.”

“Is this some weird Irish thing?”

Of course it wasn’t some weird Irish thing, it was a weird Niall thing, but if Harry was going to offer him an escape route, Niall would gladly take it. “Yes,” he said, hoping it was convincing.

The fire of Harry’s displeasure cooled, but the smoky cloud still lingered on his features. “So… We have to be boyfriends or something? Before I can give it to you in the ass?”

Niall wanted to mention that he might also need a bit more romance than ‘give it to you in the ass’ if this was ever going to happen as well, but that was a different issue. “There aren’t rules, exactly,” he tried to clarify, “It’s just when… I need – Just not now. Can you accept that? Just not now?”

Harry seemed to give that some consideration, his heavy cock bowing sadly between his thighs as he did. “You liked it when I ate your jam,” he pointed out hopefully.

“You… ate my jam?”

“When I licked your butthole.”

When Niall had imagined sex in his mind, he had imagined it would be a seamless meeting of two sexy people who wanted the same sexy thing and it all came together in one generic blur of thrusting sexiness – he had never imagined he would be sitting with a boy on his bed with their cocks hanging out, bartering and expanding their vocabulary.

“Well,” Niall said with a small shrug. “That was alright.” He blushed – it was more than alright, he loved it. Harry took that as permission enough and he kissed Niall briefly on the lips before handing him his knees and diving back down between his thighs.

He dragged his tongue over Niall’s reviving cock, over his balls, down the sensitive flesh of his perineum before driving up into his hole so suddenly and abruptly, Niall’s hole clenched, demurely trying to keep him out. But Harry wouldn’t allow it, repeatedly dipping into the heat of Niall’s body while Niall trembled and tried desperately to not wonder what it would feel like to have something inside him stretching him wider, touching him deeper.

Then Harry reached around and took hold of Niall’s cock, stroking him in time with the thrusts of his tongue. He occasionally pulled it between Niall’s thighs to rub it against his cheek. Niall whined and let out a series of sweet, little ‘eghn, eghn, eghn!s’ as his mind ran wild what it would be like to have Harry over him, thrusting, heaving inside him, how it might hurt, how that hurt might feel good.

“Harry--!” That bright golden coil was tightening in the bottom of Niall’s tummy and he knew the expertise of Harry’s hand and that wonderfully probing tongue would be too much for him to endure much longer.

“Ha—Ah!” Then Harry thrust his tongue particularly deep and curled it _just so_ and Niall went off, that spring lashing forth to the top of his head and utterly blowing his mind. For a few seconds, all he saw was white. He came back to his body in degrees and when he assumed control of his five senses, he was aware that the bed was rocking. Harry had bent his head over Niall’s chest and was feverishly working to bring himself off.

The sight alone was sexy as hell, but Niall didn’t want to just watch –“Let me” – he wanted to touch as well. Harry looked up at him with glassy, euphoric eyes as Niall fought with him for a moment to have possession of his cock. When Niall got it in his hands, he marveled at the vitality he perceived there. Each throb was as powerful as a handshake and it made him whimper softly. In turn, Harry grunted in his ear, a deep, earthy sound of approval and Niall began to stroke and experiment. He pet the shaft and swept his thumb over the weeping head, just like he liked to do to himself and he felt Harry leak. He was flooded with triumph when Harry groaned again. Venturing further, Niall gently cupped up his balls and felt they were heavy and tight and, eager to feel them release their bounty, he started stroking harder; a thrill running through him when Harry started thrusting harshly into his hand.

“Oh, wow,” he said like a true virgin.

Harry didn’t warn him when he was going to come, just gripped Niall’s shoulder in a vice, snarled in his ear and splattered his cream in long ropes all across Niall’s ribs and stomach.

Niall was reluctant to let go of the first cock he’d ever gotten to play with that wasn’t his. But he didn’t want to aggravate the man, so he released him regretfully, then let his fingers trail up along the handsome crease of his hip, over his tummy, then to that weird butterfly – moth – that he found so enchanting. He didn’t have long to play, because as soon as Harry came to, he took Niall up in his arms and squeezed him so hard, he felt his ribs bend.

“Harry,” he croaked, but the other boy loosened his grip before death became an issue.

They lay like that for some time. Niall wasn’t certain what to do and felt awkward, all the while Harry seemed perfectly content to snuffle against him and give him the occasional squeeze. When he started pressing hot, meaningful kisses into Niall’s shoulder and slid his knee between Niall’s thighs, however, Niall knew he had to take control of the situation or the things he had come to discuss would be lost in a quagmire of unending horny young boy sex.

“Harry,” Niall said brusquely. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Mmmm,” Harry murmured, clearly not recognizing from Niall’s tone that the focus had changed to more political issues.

“Harry, seriously,” Niall said, wiggling free enough of Harry’s arms to sit up. “This is important, ok?”

After a heavy sigh, Harry lifted himself to his elbow, pushed his mane of curls out of his face and looked at Niall expectantly. It took him a moment to gird his loins and remind himself of the immediacy of his case, but then he said, “I want you to apologize to Hannah Corsen.”

“Why?” That foreboding pout that Niall was beginning to recognize was forming on Harry’s face.

“Because,” he said, annoyed but undeterred, “You smashed her into a locker and ruined her glasses! And she didn’t deserve it! That’s why!”

“Yes, she did!” Harry roared, going from sleeping cat to hunting tiger in an instant. “She did fucking deserve it! She told my mom!”

“She didn’t tell your mum anything! She said something to her mum and she –“

“She should have kept her fucking mouth shut!”

Harry scrambled off the bed then, too angry to sit still. He started pacing and stamping in his tiny home, his face red and his fists clenching. “She’s a _bitch_ and she got what she deserved!”

“You take that back!” Niall yelled, rising to his feet as well. Perhaps it was because Harry was stark naked that Niall didn’t fear him half so much as he did less than a week ago. “You take that back about Hannah! She still thinks of you as a friend, Harry, and you have to apologize to her!”

“No!” The word billowed out of his mouth like a belch of dragon’s breath.

“Yes!” Niall snapped back, far less mythical in proportion, but still effective. “Yes, Harry!”

“NO!”

“YES!”

“NO!” This was accompanied with a shove in the center of Niall’s chest that sent him sprawling back into the sheet that Harry had used to hide the rusty old tools that he had tidied from the shed. The force sent Niall through it and he felt a rake dig painfully into his ribs and the edge of a shovel gouge into his shoulder blade.

The energetic force that possessed Niall in that instant made him fling himself forward almost as quickly as he’d been flung back and he commanded, in a voice far deeper and firmer than he knew himself to possess, “You don’t ever, _ever_ push me, Harry!”

Standing naked though he was, Niall felt armored to the teeth in righteous indignation. He stood with his shoulders open wide like wings and his weight sinking more solidly into the floor than they had ever done. Perhaps it was the final straw that Niall needed to wake that dormant self-respect in him and give it free rein of his body.

The scowl on Harry’s face was tempered by a widening of the eyes, and a cagey half step backward.

“You understand me? If we’re going to be friends, you don’t ever get to hurt me! I’m not going to stand for that!”

Harry took a deep breath and he huffed like a bull, but said nothing. Niall didn’t relent. “If you ever touch me like that again,” he said, clearly and slowly, “I am never coming back.”

The violent snarl on Harry’s face dissolved into a resentful, gob smacked expression. He glared at the floor, no doubt wanting to haul off on Niall and sock him. His fists were like wrecking balls at his sides and after several angry breaths, he chewed out, “I’m sorry!”

Niall was skeptical. Harry looked anything but sorry; he looked vicious. They squared off, like gunslingers at high noon for another moment until Harry, in a clear attempt at relinquishing his aggressive posture, said again, this time a little more believably: “I’m sorry.”

It was a small concession, but it was something. Niall walked to Harry slowly, much like one might approach a coiled serpent. When he was within reach of those lanky arms, they shot out and looped around him and Niall was pulled tight against a well-inked, sweat slicked chest.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, and this time it sounded sincere. “I’m sorry. Don’t go away. I won’t do it again.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

“Will you apologize to Hannah?”

Those wiry, powerful arms tensed around him, but Niall squeezed his underfed frame back just as hard as if to let him know he wasn’t backing down.

“Fine,” Harry snapped waspishly.

“Harry… She’s your _friend_. Forgive her.”

Harry’s struggle with this was palpable. It was in the muscles that had corded around Niall’s body, the edge as he exhaled into his hair. Niall ran his hands up and down Harry’s back to help him through it and eventually the boy said, “Yeah. Fine.”

“Tomorrow?”

Harry just grunted and Niall realized he may have gotten as much of an allowance as he was going to get. He looked up at Harry’s face and the boy had his eyes closed, like they were slow dancing and he was enjoying the music.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

To answer, Niall gently trailed his fingertips over the bruise that was almost not a bruise anymore. It was a faint, yellow outline that was fading back into his regular complexion.

Harry took hold of his wrist. “There’s nothing to say.”

“Who hit you?”

The security of those arms was gone from around him as Harry returned to the bed. He rummaged between the mattress and the wall, pulling back bedclothes until he found a carton of cigarettes he had stored there. Placing one between his sensual lips, Harry offered the carton to Niall who looked at it curiously. Then he shrugged and nodded, crawling onto the bed next to Harry and watching as the boy held the two cigarettes in his mouth and lit them, one after the other.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry muttered, taking one of the lit cigarettes and passing it to Niall. Niall didn’t even know how to hold it; he looked more like a hick chewing on a blade of wheat.

“Well, it sort of matters. Was it your ma that hit you?”

“No,” Harry snorted at the assumption. “My mom can’t hit that hard. She just throws things, anyway.”

“Your mum throws things?”

Harry shrugged, the smoke pouring from his nose like a dragon. “She gets mad. She can be a little psycho sometimes.”

“Like – psycho, how?”

Harry studied his cigarette, took a drag, enjoyed the burn in his lungs, then exhaled into the room, making the tiny window go foggy. “You gonna smoke that?” Harry asked, eyeing the stick burning away in Niall’s fingers.

That was when Niall realized he really didn’t want a cigarette, but he might as well see if anything had changed since the last time he’d tried it – after all, Harry looked so cool when he smoked. He put the paper between his lips and sucked on it like he had the joint. The taste was sweeter, but sicklier in Niall’s opinion and it made his eyes water unpleasantly. He coughed it out in great gobs of regret and he shook his head. “No. You can have it.”

Harry’s ears went up in something like laughter as he took the cigarette back from Niall. He stubbed it out on the wall and tucked it back into the carton while Niall succumbed to a series of tiny, unproductive coughs and yakking noises. All chivalry, Harry rose from the bed and retrieved the water bottle for Niall again.

“Thanks,” Niall wheezed as the other boy joined him again on the sheets.

“One time,” Harry said, almost as if in reply. “I woke up in the middle of the night and my mom was standing over me with a knife.”

The shock of it made Niall stop coughing. For the next few seconds, he had no idea what he should do at all. “Fuck me,” he said quietly. “Do you think she was—y’know, going to…”

“Fuck yes, she was.” He held up his right arm and through the tattoo scribbling, there was a distinct, puffy white line. “She gave me this.”

“Why do you still live with her?”

Harry turned incredulous eyes on him. “Where would I go, Niall? Foster care? Fuck that. Only perverts take in other peoples’ kids. Besides, I’ll be eighteen, soon.”

Harry took another drag of his cigarette and they both watched as his exhale caught on the beams of light that came through the window.

“And she’s my mom,” Harry said, after due consideration. “She’s my mom.”

Niall chewed on the straw of the water bottle again and curled up on the bed, twining his toes in the thin fabric of the linens. After watching him a moment, Harry reached out and stroked over Niall’s pale thigh, giving Niall whole-body tingles.

“Where are you going to go? Once you’re eighteen?”

Harry gave a subtle shrug. “I don’t know. Anywhere.” Cal says he’s gonna put me in the army, but I’ll kill him first.”

“Cal?”

“The guy my mom’s fucking right now.” Harry pointed at his face, specifically the fading bruise, with the cigarette. His jaw was tight with displeasure as he slowly took another drag and it was clear his mind was still whirling on the topic of the man who attacked him when he said, “I’m gonna fucking kill him. I’ll knife him right in the throat.” He had his hand held out in a fist and Niall could see the blade glint in his imagination.

“You’ll go to prison,” Niall pointed out, wanting more than anything for Harry to cease with the bloody talk.

“Not if I do it before I’m eighteen,” Harry said, his lips tight around the cigarette and his eyes narrowed to slits to protect them from the smoke. “Besides, they won’t catch me, anyway. I’ll be long fucking gone.”

“There has to be another way,” Niall said, feeling incredibly out of his depth and useless.

“Naw,” Harry said with the calm steadfastness of a man resolved, “He ever touches me or my mom again, he’s dead. He’s just fucking dead.”

A huge sigh welled out of Niall’s throat and it made Harry look at him. “I won’t… Sorry. I don’t usually talk about this shit.”

“It’s okay,” Niall said, wincing at the possibility that he might have shut Harry down again. “It’s okay, I’m just not used to it.”

“I know,” Harry’s voice was suddenly laced with razors. He curled his fists against his temples and railed, “I know, I know you’re not used to it. I’m stupid, I’m stupid! I shouldn’t have said that shit to you, I’m so fucking stupid!” Niall saw that that furious, destructive force was capable of turning inwards, as well.

He took hold of Harry’s wrists and said softly, “Stop. Hey, stop, stop. It’s okay.” The other boy was so strong, Niall couldn’t even get his fists away from his head, until Harry allowed him to. “I like that you talk to me, ok? I just don’t understand sometimes, but – I appreciate it. I do.”

The other boy looked up at him, his face still flushed. “I don’t want to scare you away.”

The desperation in the other boy was shining in his eyes – along with his loneliness, his isolation.   
“You won’t,” Niall promised softly, uncertain whether he meant it or if he just wanted the other boy to calm down. “We’re friends, right?”

One of those large, powerful hands cupped Niall’s cheek and he couldn’t look away from this strange creature with whom he was sitting naked in bed. Harry nodded, his face relaxing with the confirmation and his eyes quickly skimming over Niall’s nudity.

Then he leaned forward and took Niall’s lips in his own.

His kisses were just as exotic and exciting and unpredictable as the rest of him and Niall felt his body grow warm. Harry’s hand dropped to the back of his neck and he massaged him there, which put Niall in a trance like a cat held by its scruff.

“Can you stay for a while?” Harry asked, his voice pure velvet, now.

“Um – It’s… Yeah. My ma’s got friends coming over and I’m not supposed to be in the—“ but Harry’s lips were on him again, this time joined by his hands, which were wrapping around his hips, urging him into Harry’s lap. Niall didn’t resist, feeling far too powerful and sexy sitting astride the other boy to do so.

He let Harry invade his mouth and paw his ass while he slowly curled his hips from the pleasure. As the arousal overtook him, his mind expanded to other things – Louis, primarily, what his hands would feel like, what his mouth would taste like, what his soft, pleasure-filled moans would sound like. He wondered how heavy Louis would be atop him, and how well Louis would bear his weight, in turn. He thought of where he would kiss him and how and whether Louis kissed with his eyes open or not.

But when Harry pulled him down on top of him and bucked so their cocks slicked together, Niall’s mind went white and he thought of nothing.


	16. Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I intend to see this through to the end, but we all hit rough patches.
> 
> This is PORNY. Not, like, hard core or anything, just... well, you'll see.

Since the unfortunate incident at the bike rack on his second day of school, Niall had developed a habit of locking his bike in the most efficient way possible and then swiftly getting the hell out of such a strategically disadvantageous situation. Come Monday, his tried and true technique wasn’t working as planned and he was struggling to get the U-Lock through the spokes. This delay could have been caused by the fact that from here, Niall could see Liam and his cronies milling about the huge planter in front of the school, but even more terrifying was that just to his left, Harry Styles had returned to school grounds. He didn’t even need to look to know that this was so, because he heard the murmurs that preceded him.

Risking a glance, he saw that Harry was loping up the drive in his distinctly predatory fashion, no doubt headed directly toward Niall, where he would, in Niall’s darkest nightmare, probably kiss him or do something likewise sexually territorial. This made Niall’s hands fumble with the lock.

When Harry was only a few yards away, Niall managed to get the metal in its place and he pulled his hoodie up over his head and prepared to make a run for it, when he saw a beloved figure hop up onto the sidewalk, bipedal instead of quadrapedal for once and more beautiful than ever.

“Louis!”

As soon as Louis noticed him, he sparked in a hundred directions, running toward him, hallooing, “Check me out, baby! I can do like you, now!”

As Louis barreled forward, Niall saw him jump awkwardly to the side and kick out like a broken donkey and Niall realized he was trying to do Irish step-dancing. It was tinglingly endearing.

“You’re all healed!” Niall laughed warmly, flinging his arms wide in celebration, catching the boy that inevitably crashed into him. But as soon as Niall had him in his arms, he was off again, showing off for any available passerby. In his exuberance, Niall immediately forgot the threat of a tall, brooding young man who was no doubt coming to greet him. He only remembered Harry when Louis swung briefly in his direction and Niall then became aware of how intensely those cat eyes were watching him. He immediately ducked his head and turned his attention back to Louis, schooling his face into a supportive, gleeful grin.

“Fuck yeah I’m healed!” Louis said, leaping into the air as if to prove that it was so. “Look out for me in practice, yo, cause I’m not taking it easy on ANY of you bastards!”

Then that arm was slung around Niall’s neck again and the smell of Louis’ laundry detergent washed over him, his body so alive and agile. Louis started guiding him up the steps, toward where the Paynes and their ilk had congregated. Niall felt himself getting tense.

“Hey, guys!” Louis chirped cheerfully.

In response, there were a few ‘hey’s and ‘sups’, and Niall realized that with Louis hanging on his shoulders, there was no chance in hell anyone was going to try to start anything with him. With Louis, he was completely safe, protected, invulnerable.

As they went through the doors of the school, Niall looked back; he saw Harry, standing stock still at the bike rack, his eyes sharper than ever.

 

When they walked into their first hour class, Louis was reluctant to give up his grip on Niall’s neck. It was almost as if he was trying to make up for his weeks of being an invalid by making a show of strength now.

“Niall,” Mrs. Jordan said when they arrived, arresting their bumbling trajectory. Niall peered over Louis’ arm. His teacher was holding a yellow inter-office memo slip and she waggled it at him, saying, “Principal wants to see you as soon as you can in the teacher’s lounge. But it looks like it can wait until after class.”

“Ooooo, you’re in trouble,” Louis snickered, dragging Niall over to his desk where a few of his friends were waiting for him. Liam hadn’t gotten to class yet, so Niall could relax and return a few jabs to Louis’ ribs when Louis tried to tickle him.

Eleanor was there, pretending to be unaware of the two boys monkeying right beside her desk. Once, Niall caught her looking at him, which made her frown and turn away.

“Hey,” Louis said, finally settling somewhat and sitting on his desk. “I go with the boys to the Pizza Hut on 12th after practice; you wanna come? The pizza’s greasy, but they’re open til 11.”

“Yeah, cool,” Niall smiled. “And, hey, my mom wants to have you over this week and cook for you—“

“Your mom does?” Louis asked, leaning back against the desk, giving Niall a look too knowing for Niall’s comfort.

“Yeah,” Niall said, feeling like he was walking into a trap. “So, would you want to come over some time?”

“To see your mom?”

“Well—“

“Yeah, that sounds cool,” Louis smirked. “Maybe we could bump into each other while I hang out with your mom. If you’re not too busy.”

Niall blushed that Louis was calling him out on his shyness. He got a bit funny inside and forgot how normal conversation worked, momentarily.

Louis took pity on him, smacking his arm with a laugh. “Relax. Friday work?”

“Louis, let Niall go to his seat!” Mrs. Jordan voice sounded somewhere in the immeasurable distance.

“Yeah,” Niall said, his heart pounding and his cheeks no less red. “Friday’s cool.”

“Alright. You can tell your mom I’ll come see her on Friday,” Louis laughed and every boy within four desks of them started snickering like dogs.

“Louis! Let Niall go to his seat!”

“And maybe I can show you this suit I picked out for the homecoming dance,” Louis continued and Niall was absolutely on board with any pastime that meant he could openly ogle Louis’ form. “You have anything, yet?”

“Well, no, I—“

“Niall, go to your seat!” Mrs. Jordan said, apparently giving up on exerting any force over Louis and going instead for the easier target. Niall blushed (he never took well to being reprimanded) and rolled his eyes at Louis as he dutifully made his way up the aisle.

“But, hey!” Louis said, “French class, right? You’re going to help me with that open-note quiz, yeah?”

Niall nodded, laughing, “Of course!” Every bit of him was eager and primed to spend forty-five minutes with Louis hanging over his shoulder, breathing softly in his ear as they concentrated on important French travel phrases together.

There was a skip in his step when he returned to his seat, where he gave Hannah a cheesy smile and a wink. Louis’ return and affection made him high and whittled his attention to a single, blue-eyed, un-crutched point.

But then Harry entered and the whole room hushed. The silence didn’t last long, as titters and whispers broke out a moment later. Harry’s displeasure was apparent and Niall looked away before their eyes could meet. Even without seeing him, Niall could feel him. He could feel him get closer and feel his shadow as it crossed his desk. He heard a yelp directly behind him as poor David Vaughn was uprooted by the scruff of his button-down and deposited into the aisle to determine his own fate.

Now, Harry was sitting in the desk behind him and Niall would swear he could feel him breathing against the back of his neck. His shoulders hunched up and, even after the class had started, he braced himself against whatever unpredictability might arise from the man at his back. His anxiety rose whenever he heard Harry shift.

 

Mrs. Jordan started her lecture, and, as always, addressed most of it to the students sitting in front of the class. She often engaged with Louis, since the boy so clearly liked being the center of attention and was always keeping the room giggling with ‘you don’t say’s and ‘do go on’s. Niall was having a difficult go of keeping his eyes off the other boy, but he was disrupted from his fawning when he saw a long, gangly arm appear from at his side – except it wasn’t reaching for him. Harry tugged on the sleeve of Hannah’s jumper (the white one with neon colored cats all over it) and said, “Hey.”

It was Hannah’s turn to be nervous. She was so nervous, in fact, she went stony, except for her eyes, which flickered over to Niall for instruction. Undeterred, Harry tried again, giving her sleeve a more violent jerk than he had before. “Hannah,” he said, not bothering terribly to lower his voice. Mrs. Jordan, as had many of the teachers and faculty, had, for the most part, given up on trying to discipline Harry and had decided that the best course of action was to hunker down and bear his uncivil behavior until he either dropped out or was incarcerated.

Hannah, jerky and skittish, managed to turn and glance at him, which was enough acknowledgment for Harry to continue. “I’m sorry I pushed you into the locker,” he said, slowly, evenly and, much to Niall’s surprise, earnestly.

It made Hannah go pink in the cheeks. “It’s ok,” she whispered. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

“I’m sorry anyway,” Harry said, then leaned back in his seat, giving Niall and Hannah the space to exchange glances – Hannah’s a look of bewilderment, Niall’s a look of encouragement. He was impressed. He was impressed and surprised, which was why he had a look of contemplative satisfaction on his face when Eleanor turned around in her seat from the front of the classroom and looked at him. In such a good mood as he was, Niall gave her a jolly smile. In return, her eyebrows pulled to the middle and her bottom lip poked out in a pout of disapproval. She shook her head at him as if he had done something reprehensible, then turned back again to face the front.

~*~

“So, there’s a slight chance that Piper Hendry & Dean Ross could pull ahead in the next few weeks, but since they haven’t thrown any parties this year, it isn’t very likely,” Hannah said, the jelly from her sandwich trapped at the corners of her mouth as she reviewed her unofficial polls for the Homecoming King and Queen as she sat with Niall and Zayn in the courtyard during lunch.

“So? Louis and Eleanor never throw parties and they’ve won two years in a row,” Zayn pointed out as he delicately peeled the shell off his hardboiled egg.

“That doesn’t matter,” Hannah said through a lisp made worse from eating peanut butter, “The only thing Piper & Dean have going for them are the parties they throw and if they don’t throw them, well…” Her already oversized eyes went wide, indicating that all present knew what that meant.

“Have you ever even been to one of Piper & Dean’s parties?” Zayn asked, incredulous. “How do you even know they’re not just boring old get togethers where everyone just eats chips and tries to pretend they’re interesting?”

“I know,” Hannah adjusted her glasses, “Because I know the gossip, _Zayn_.” She said his name like it was an insult which made Niall chortle and Zayn roll his eyes. He loved this, the three of them alone in the courtyard underneath the enormous oak tree. Here, he could relax and be himself without feeling like he had to put on a good show for Louis or hide from Harry.

“You know, _you_ had a chance at Homecoming king, Niall,” Hannah turned to him. Niall balked and nearly upset his Tupperware full of tuna salad. “What? Why? I’m not seeing anyone.”

“You don’t have to be dating,” Zayn shrugged. “It just helps.”

“And if you had said yes to Natalie Plympton, you totally would’ve gotten it,” Hannah said in no uncertain terms.

“Yep,” Zayn agreed, nodding.

“How does everyone know about that?” Niall sputtered, exasperated. He had seen Natalie in the halls and by her unwillingness to acknowledge him, he assumed she had wanted the incident to be broadcast as little as Niall did.

“Everyone’s talking,” Zayn shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “We all know it’s because you’ve got a thing for Eleanor.”

“Oh, my god,” Niall groaned, putting his face in his hands. “Not this again.”

“Don’t worry,” Zayn grinned, “No one will tell Louis. We’re all just waiting for you to make a move.”

“It’s so dramatic – a love triangle! Because you do like her, right?” Hannah asked, clearly thirsty for the scuttlebutt.

Niall looked at his two friends. Hannah’s face was open and eager, whereas Zayn was clearly curious but too cool to show it openly. The courtyard was still and the nearest student was on the other side of sound-proof glass several yards away.

Niall had no doubt that his friends loved him, cared about him deeply. He had no one in the world he could talk to about his sexuality and these two people were the closest he’d ever come to trusting people with the gullies of his identity.

“No,” he said slowly, purposefully. He could tell it was the way he said it, not what he said that made them both snap to attention and hold their breaths. “I have something to tell you.”

Hannah put down her sandwich and folded her hands in her lap while Zayn dropped those thick, hipster glasses over his eyes so, Niall supposed, he could see more clearly.

But it happened again, just as it had before: he locked up. It was as if he had been put on mute. The words he wanted to say were ringing in his skull, but for the life of him, he couldn’t give them sound. The expression on Hannah’s face went from receptive to concerned.

“Niall?”

“I’ve never been in love,” he blurted out, quite outside of his own volition. Zayn and Hannah shared a startled glance, but Niall kept babbling over any comments they may have had. “I just wanted you both to know, I’ve never been in love. I mean, that’s kind of weird, right?”

Zayn snorted. “No. I’ve never been in love. We’re only 17, man.”

Hannah stayed suspiciously silent.

A choked awkwardness conquered all for a few beats before Niall coughed haltingly, “Well, I thought... I just thought I should mention it.” Niall didn’t know what mortified him more, Hannah’s unrequited crush or his own incapacity to speak his truth.

“Plympton wouldn’t care that you haven’t been in love, anyway,” Zayn pointed out while Niall was only half listening, “She didn’t want love. She wanted … y’know… the somethin’ somethin’.” Zayn leered, wiggling his shoulders in a patented hoochie-coochie gesture.

“And that crown,” Hannah supplied, emerging from her embarrassment paralysis.

Struck with a sudden idea, Zayn offered, “She’s probably going to ask Connor Metzger out just so she still has a chance!” Hanna immediately plucked up that bait and their conversation became a feeding frenzy of gossip about people Niall was only vaguely familiar with. He retreated into his own thoughts, diligently trying to root the bright and cheery ones from the self-doubt that was choking his mind to black.

~

The halls in Jefferson Valley High after the last bell were more densely packed by far than any street in Mullingar. As he put his items away in his locker, Niall was jostled back and forth by the passing stampede. The liveliness of it all distracted him from the monotony of being a student subjected to a strict regimen of classes and after school activities. In Mullingar the day-in, day-out unchanging schedule with nothing to look forward to, no hope of miracles and no potential love interests on the horizon wore him down into a pale, unmotivated nub of a young man. Even the danger of this place seemed to summon him more firmly into the world.

And danger was heading straight for him, he noticed, as he shut his locker. Luckily, however, it was the best danger available; Louis flung his arms around Niall’s middle with a war cry of, “Soccer time!” A wave of teammates descended upon them and Louis lifted Niall off the ground, determined to carry him and prove his body quite able. The sharp bone of Louis’ shoulder dug into Niall’s tender stomach, but he had no complaints, being held as dearly as he was. John and Sam were thundering behind them, Parker at his side, singing the school anthem that Niall had yet to learn. When Niall twisted in Louis’ strong arms, he saw Liam ahead of him, looking as pleased as Niall had ever seen him – he didn’t even seem annoyed that Louis was carrying his arch nemesis as if he was the hero of the team.

As they passed toward the field, the common men and women of the school cheered them on like soldiers off to war and that was when Louis took to keeping time for Parker by landing hearty smacks on Niall’s ass. Lord, did that make him blush. He dropped back over Louis shoulder to hide his rosy cheeks and in so doing, saw Harry.

He was standing at the top of the stairs, his arms crossed and leaning against the brick wall like a stereotypical Hollywood bad boy. And, like all bad boys, he looked angry. However, unlike all bad boys, his wasn’t an affected rage, designed to make all who saw it find him moody and mysterious, his was legitimate as he watched Niall paraded down the hall on the shoulder of the boy he knew Niall to love, who was not Harry.

Reactive, Niall struggled free of Louis’ arms, nearly getting trampled when he hit the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Louis laughed, cuddling Niall against him boyishly.

“Nothing,” Niall stammered, feeling a cold in his stomach that sucked at his warmth. “Nothing, I just left my – my book in the locker. I have to go get it.”

“Leave it!” Louis laughed, not relinquishing his hold. “You can get it later!”

“No,” Niall said, wiggling, “No, I have to go – I have to—“ He didn’t even bother compiling a justifiable excuse for his sudden departure; he simply bolted. There was a teacher’s lounge to their right that made an excellent sanctuary and Niall ducked inside it, camouflaging himself amidst the other students who were sitting in the waiting room chairs, no doubt hoping to convince someone of authority that they deserved a better grade.

It was the intensity of Harry’s gaze that had petrified Niall into such silly behavior. The man was prone to such unpredictable conduct and that they were at school wouldn’t have prevented him from behaving so. His plan was to sit here only long enough for him to feel secure that Hurricane Harry had passed, and then to continue on his way to soccer practice and, hopefully, the giddy, though platonic, embrace of Louis’ arms.

“Niall!”

The addressed nearly leapt into the air for fright. He saw Principle Blakely standing before him, looking pleasantly surprised. Niall was no doubt looking only unpleasantly surprised.

“A little late in the day, but I’m glad you’re here!”

It was only then that Niall recalled the message he’d received in his first hour class: to meet Mr. Blakely here at his earliest convenience. Niall swallowed. Escape simply wasn’t an option, not cornered like this as he was. Still, he made an attempt, “I um, I forgot I have practice – I need to go now so I won’t be late.”

“Come on, there, sport,” Mr. Blakely said, extending an arm, clearly intending Niall to follow him into his office and just as clearly, plain not listening to anything he didn’t want to hear. Hostage, Niall did as he was instructed.

His office was made of four stone walls, garnished in garish posters advocating self-esteem, hard work and community mindedness. On his desk, Niall saw a picture of Anders in his minority and Niall felt a momentary stab of commiseration for the poor boy whose classmates got a view of him in his nappies.

Mr. Blakely sat behind his desk, adjusted his navy blue and pasta-stain tie over his middle-aged belly and started, “I was hoping to speak to you a little bit about Harry Styles.”

Of course. Even in trying to avoid the boy, Niall was fated to walk right into him one way or another. “Wh-Why?” Niall asked cautiously, calming himself with the notion that no one could possibly know the things he and Harry did together in his shack outside the woods.

“It’s nothing serious,” the graying man replied casually, “I just wanted to assure you that we’re keeping a very close eye on him. Carey told me about the incident outside the woods.”

Niall knew it was foolish to hope that little incident went unreported, but from Mr. Blakely’s demeanor, it seemed he wasn’t in trouble, which put him at a bit of a loss as to how to play this. “The incident outside the woods?” he asked, hoping more information would come to light.

“Yes! I heard you and some of the other boys from the soccer team were attacked by him after school. Upsetting, really, the whole thing, and I’d like to apologize. You can’t let one crazy boy’s actions cloud your view of this great country.”

Now Niall was truly reeling. He tried not to show it on his face, since he didn’t want to prove that this fabrication in his favor was actually a falsehood. “Oh,” he said, stalling for the appropriate word to appear in his brain: “That.”

Principal Blakely chuckled a little bit, as if Niall was trying to be modest. “Yes, that. I assure you, Styles is a freak. We’ve tried to convince him to drop out of school, but for whatever reason, the little bastard just keeps clinging – you’ll excuse the expression, I’m sure.”

Blakely was speaking to him as if he was more peer than student and suddenly everything became clear to Niall: He was on the football team, therefore he was untouchable. He couldn’t be sure, of course, of the specifics of the narrative that was related to Blakely originally, but Niall had a sneaking suspicion that the principal was incapable of believing any of his beloved athletes could possibly be on the wrong side of any conflict. He had already shown a proclivity for disregarding facts that didn’t suit his fancy.

“Oh – sure,” Niall replied, feeling more uncomfortable.

“I just want you to know,” Blakely leaned forward as if imparting a secret, “If that little shit gives you any more problems, you come straight to me, understand? I’ll boot his ass out of here so fast, his head will spin.” He leaned back in his chair with such sloppy ease, Niall felt that he would’ve offered Niall a beer if he had one. “I’ve tried to expel that little asshole so many damn times, but the board is always up my ass about disenfranchised youth and having faith and all that hippy bullshit. So, just so you know – he tries anything? You come straight to me. And I’ve told the rest of the team that as well.”

Niall felt paralyzed. He knew what the right thing to do was, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Ok,” he croaked out, wondering why it was so much harder for him to defend Harry to Principal Blakely than it was to defend Hannah to Louis. It seemed so backwards in Niall’s mind.

“Alright then!” Blakely knocked jovially against the desk. “That solves that. You gonna kick Cougar’s ass next week?”

“Yessir,” Niall replied, not feeling half so cheerful as his tone implied.

“That’s what I wanna hear!” Blakely barked with a laugh. “Get outta here, stud! Show ‘em what you got!”

Niall was more than happy to get out of there. He got so fast, he found himself in a hallway completely vacated by students without even recalling how he got there. He put a hand over his face and leaned back against the lockers, wrought with guilt of letting such unjust misconceptions slide. He could have told Principal Blakely that Harry had apologized to Hannah this morning; that he took care of an orphaned kitten in the woods; that the entire shovel incident was only Harry trying to protect Niall against would-be attackers.

“Aw, fuck me,” Niall said, dropping his head and letting that pull him off the wall. He shuffled forward, his heart recording the disappointment of his behavior, heading for the practice where he knew he was already late.

He had nearly gotten out of the labyrinthine halls of the chemistry wing and almost emerged into the open space of the cafeteria when there were heavy footsteps behind him, charging. Before he could turn around, hands were on him, smuggling him into the last remaining alcove of the halls and pushing him face-first into the brick. At first, he thought it was Liam, but he could tell by the hands on him, the way they crushed him closer to the body behind him than into the wall that this wasn’t his teammate – there was no way Liam would ever hold him by his tummy like this, nuzzle and pant into his throat like this, or, Jesus, nibble his ear like this.

The body behind him left only for a second, long enough to rip his backpack from his shoulders, and then those powerful hips were curling into his arse, those hands were groping him up and that mouth was trailing burning, sucking kisses up his neck.

“Harry,” Niall gasped, as quietly as he could, trembling and hot from the onslaught, wishing he had a stronger will than to indulge in being manhandled like this.

“Shut up,” Harry snarled. Angry, then. Harry was angry and it didn’t take much for Niall to guess why. He tried to push himself away from the wall, but he only pushed himself more firmly into Harry’s body, since the other boy didn’t budge. He had control of Niall’s jaw, now, and made him tilt his face to the side so he could press fierce, smoldering kisses into his lips. Kisses that were so distracting, Niall barely noticed the fumbling of Harry’s other hand below. It was only after the hard scrape of denim being dragged down over his ass and the tickle of cold air hit his bare skin that he realized how far Harry’s intentions went.

“Har--!” Niall almost screamed through the halls, but that dustpan of a hand clamped over his mouth and cut him off.

“Shhh,” Harry said, kissing his temple repeatedly and holding Niall still by his head while he fumbled with his own fly. Niall’s heart was pounding and he couldn’t think for how hard his cock was. He tried to wiggle to free himself, tried to dislodge Harry’s hand, but his assailant was too strong.

“Shhh,” Harry said again after Niall heard the sound of fabric crumpling near the floor. He could feel Harry’s hard, throbbing cock pulsing and nudging at the swell of his cheeks, wet and inquisitive like a dog’s greeting. The simile almost made him laugh, but when Harry relinquished control of his mouth, what came out was, “Harry, let me go, the teachers’ll come by—“

Harry kissed him again, strangling off his protests and scrambling his brain. Then he felt Harry’s hand at his arse, parting his cheeks, making him spread his thighs slightly and he thought to himself, “This is it. This is how I lose my virginity. To a lunatic in the hallway, where a teacher will find us, mid-fuck.” It was absurd and terrifying how that thought made his cock throb.

But when Harry’s cock came back, it slipped down the crevice of his cheeks, leaving a glistening trail, and pushed in between Niall’s thighs, bringing the tuft of Harry’s bush snug against Niall’s rump.

“Now squeeze,” Harry demanded as he bent Niall forward at the waist and Niall did as he was told, trapping that pulsing, turgid flesh between his soft thighs and panting harshly into the concrete.

Then, Harry started thrusting, quick, rhythmic shunts that made their flesh slap together in a way that would leave no doubt as to what was happening in the science hall if one were to walk down it’s echoing length. Even without being penetrated, the rocking of Harry’s thrusts, that primordial rhythm of being taken was making Niall’s loins tingle hungrily.

Niall was blushing so hard he thought his face would set fire as his thighs began to slick with Harry’s precum and he felt Harry’s long cock nudge repeatedly into the back of his balls, making them sway and bounce. Even more embarrassing was his own cock, bobbing with each thrust, curving wantonly up against his stomach, hard and leaking.

Niall let out a small mew of protest that died in a choked gargle when he felt Harry’s calloused hand close around his dick and start to stroke. “Oh, Lord,” he panted, looking down and seeing the head of his cock disappearing and reappearing in Harry’s fist as he pumped him.

Then, Harry’s mouth, that cave of pleasures, was at his ear, stroking over it, nibbling on the ridge, licking inside.

“Tomorrow night,” Harry purred, his voice heavy with lust, “You’re going to come to my house.”

Niall only let out a noncommittal squeak and Harry’s hand was at his mouth then, stroking over his parted, panting, kiss-swollen lips, making him moan.

“And I’m going to fuck you for real, whether you want me to or not.”

Fear and arousal coursed through Niall’s body in a dangerously inebriating cocktail and while his mind was screaming with retorts, all he could bring himself to do with his mouth was lick the tip of the index finger Harry dropped inside it.

“And,” Harry panted, his hips working faster, his voice ragged from his passion, “I’m gonna make you feel so good – so fucking good, baby.”

Then Niall was coming. He threw his head over Harry’s shoulder and pushed his hips back, squeezing hard on Harry’s cock as his own went off. As he pumped his come against the brick wall, Harry’s thrusts became harder and heavier and he tugged on Niall’s hips until he was coming too, shooting between Niall’s thighs, on the back of his balls and adding to Niall’s mess on the wall.

For a few moments, all Niall could hear was his own panting. He was supported in Harry’s territorial embrace and soothed back to reality by soft kisses against his neck. Harry helped him get his feet under himself and even tucked his jeans back up over his come-spattered thighs. With his eyes still closed, Niall never even heard Harry get dressed, but he did feel the feather soft kiss against his eyebrow and hear the man say, “I’ll see you, then.”

When he opened his eyes, the hall was empty.


	17. Part the Next XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holla at yer girl.

It occurred to Niall, as he curled under his covers that night, that this whole ugly mess could be neatly avoided by simply not going to Harry’s shack at the specified time. Of course, that would involve ninja-like stealth through the halls and a confirmation from Zayn that he would drive him home first thing after the final bell. Perhaps he could also use Louis, who appeared to be some kind of anathema to Harry, as further cover. That night, Niall stared at his ceiling, anguished, torn, and fiercely turned on.

All of his planning proved itself moot, however, since Harry was nowhere to be seen on the premises the following day. While this relieved a great deal of stress, the threat still loomed. To distract himself, he wrote more stories in his journal about impressing Louis on the field and making Liam Payne look foolish. Still, thoughts of what might have happened in Harry’s shack plagued him all day, giving him embarrassing and untimely erections.

When the final bell rang, Niall clung to the back of Zayn’s shirt and practically pushed him through the halls. His eyes were a bit googly, searching for any trace of Harry as they were, but, proving constant, the boy never appeared.

This left Niall with an evening of nothing to do; which was absolutely perfect because the only thing he wanted to do was wank until he passed out. His mind was screaming with images in what happened in that alternate reality where Niall actually did as he was told, submitted to that powerful and lusty will and did that act that had fascinated him since he was eight.

He wrung out his first orgasm within two minutes of dropping his drawers. When he came to, he didn’t even know how he ended up on his back, staring at his ceiling, panting and sticky. But that fire in him hadn’t been snuffed out and, once his strength returned to him, he ventured into a great experimentation.

He had tried the sensation of his fingers in him before and had simply found it awkward and to no small degree, embarrassing. But now the lust was frothing in him so mightily that embarrassment or shame were only farewell cries of a distant shore. The process still wasn’t as streamlined and comfortable as he might’ve hoped, but the pain of the stretch and being touched in that deep, private place felt like the very thrill he’d been lacking for so long.

For no small span of time was he splashed out on the bed, a vista of sexy, experimental images washing through his brain, sometimes Louis, sometimes Harry, then, increasingly, both of them. Not the least of these fantasies was what was befalling that other Niall, who had had the courage to go to that shack on the border of the woods and share this incredible feeling with another person.

His last orgasm knocked him out at approximately ten at night, which meant that when he awoke the next morning, he was well rested. And, quite opposed to his perspective the day before, he was actually eager to see Harry. He wanted to see his eyes, his lips, hear his voice, as if to compare the accuracy of his fantasies to the real thing.

Much to his disappointment, Harry was absent again, but he was well compensated by Louis’ presence, bright and playful, just as Niall had imagined he might be in bed. It was a fun game, translating Louis’ casual school behavior into bedroom behavior. Not only was it enjoyable, but easy, to the point where Niall had an erection for almost the entirety of his first hour class.

French wasn’t much better. Far worse, in fact, since it was another ‘pairs’ assignment and, Louis, who was lost amidst a sea of French hopeless unless Niall was near, pressed into Niall’s space with a sense of entitlement.

“What are you doing after the game, tonight?” the object of Niall’s affection interrupted him as he was trundling easily through the entire assignment.

“Mm?” Niall looked up from his ‘avoirs’. “Oh, probably going to the Pizza Hut like last time.” One of Niall’s lesser objectives as pertained to the men in his life, was to actually sit down and talk to Liam Payne. The atmosphere at the pizza parlor after the previous practice had been relaxed, casual and while his bully made no attempt to interact with him at all, he also made no outwardly aggressive shows which gave Niall hope at a possible reconciliation. Perhaps, he thought, even if just by simple exposure, they could come to a peaceable agreement between them.

“There’s this place under the bleachers – you know, where the two stands sort of go like this and break away from each other? It’s like this private little spot where no one can see you and you can get away with anything.”

The expression on Louis’ face was downright puckish and if privacy and mischief was what Louis had on offer, than by god, Niall would find this alcove of hidden treasures and partake of it with him.

Liam Payne be damned.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Wicked, huh?”

Louis was pressed so close against him that the distinctive smell of his detergent filled Niall’s nostrils. Niall loved that smell and he found himself hoping that the sleeve that was rubbing against his own was depositing some of that aroma into the fibers, so Niall might have the good fortune to smell it even when Louis was absent. God, he could get off on that smell so hard – and he intended to.

“Five minutes,” Mr. Lunt honked to the class and Niall curled back over the worksheet, happy to be taken advantage of if it bound this boy more closely to him.

~*~

At practice, the team had their first scrimmage. Split down the middle, Niall could only be thankful that Liam was on his team, and somewhat discouraged that Louis wasn’t. Almost as if the universe was offering him recompense, however, due to their size similarities, it was determined that they should guard each other. This pleased Niall exorbitantly.

“This is going to be a friendly game,” Louis emphasized as he, in capacity of captain, strode between the columns of opposing forces. “But when we face off against the Cougars in a little bit, they won’t be friendly. They’re _dicks_!” This got a few chuckles and an overly enthusiastic guffaw from Niall. “So, even though we’re sort of just having fun tonight, keep focused! And, Niall, try not to trip over your feet.”

No guffaw from Niall, then, who was concentrating on not being embarrassed. He was.

“Alright, GO!” Louis clapped, breaking the columns into a scattering of boys.

Niall was not playing horribly. Of course, he had the incredibly difficult task of trying to keep up with Louis, who was an absolute lightening bug. Although he would never confess it, he liked the boy better when hobbled. Yet, although he could rarely keep pace with him, he had extensive practice in keeping an eye on him, and his focus was so exact that he would, on occasion, miss the ball if it skipped right by him. This got him yelled at on more than one occasion, but never by Louis, who was usually the one to snatch control of the ball and run off laughing.

Perhaps he was playing horribly. It was difficult to concentrate on a game with rules and objectives when the love of your life was flitting about, all sinewy and glistening from sweat, flashing the spontaneous smile of one who had love pranks planned for an under-the-bleachers rendezvous in only a few short hours’ time.

“Whose fucking team are you on?”

A blow hit him between the shoulder blades and Niall staggered forward to keep himself upright. It was Liam, of course, disgruntled at Niall’s third missed pass.

“Sorry,” he stammered stupidly, unable to ignore the pointed glares from the rest of the team.

“Liam!” Bartly’s bear-howl was followed by the treble blasts of his whistle. “No rough housing, you hear me!”

The scowl Liam gave him was enough to peel his skin from his bones and he looked away, only to have his gaze land on a few specks in the bleachers – apparently a scrimmage was worthy of spectators and Niall saw Natalie Plympton and the Akerman sisters in a conspiratorial huddle while David Vaughn hunched by himself a few rows behind them. Part of Niall anticipated the presence of a certain brooding pugilist, but no such figure appeared.

In the second half of the game, Niall was more astute. Instead of just running around after Louis, he became a bit wilier, realizing that if he didn’t snap at Louis’ heels, there was no one guarding Niall to receive open passes. The tables quite turned and Niall managed two assists that made him feel pretty sparkly about himself. It didn’t take long for Louis to realize his faux pas, but by the time he did, it was too late – Niall had the ball, a clear shot on goal, and that canon-fire kick that made everyone in its trajectory call upon their lord and savior. Poor Sam braced himself, but in so doing, was robbed the flexibility required to leap into the left corner pocket, which was exactly where Niall fired.

It wasn’t the game-winning goal, but put his team one in the lead and Niall threw his hands up in a halloo of victory. There was some patchy cheering in the stands and a few heartfelt woots from the field.

“Sonofabitch!” A laughing voice said and that was the only warning he got before Louis flung himself at his Irish friend full tilt, tackling him to the ground and driving Niall an inch deep, face first into the soft, mossy earth. “You little sneak!” Louis accused, wiggling atop him and merrily rubbing dirt in Niall’s hair. “You sneaky, sneaky bitch!” Niall tried to fight him off, although his attempts were mitigated by how much he liked having Louis’ weight pressing into him.

“Louis,” Bartly called from the sidelines, sounding bored. “Get off him.”

“I like it here,” Louis taunted, then, to make matters nearly unbearable, rolled his hips into Niall’s butt like a rutting dog. The rest of the team laughed appreciatively, but Niall had quite a different response. His dick, young and virile, responded the way any healthy, gay dick would, and Niall’s imagination, questing and expansive, realized sex in public opened a whole new slew of kinky fantasies.

Joke executed, Louis got off him and offered him a hand. Niall couldn’t possibly take it. His cock had drilled a hole in the mud and would make quite an uncomely tent if he were to rise, now.

“Niall! Get up, this isn’t nap time!”

Niall couldn’t get up. Not if he ever wanted to show his face in this school again. In fact, he couldn’t even bring himself to move or respond. An odd, prone form he was and Bartly tried again, “Niall! The hell’s the matter with you? On your feet, we have a game to play!”

The sharp tone in his voice was actually doing wonders for the situation, but just as soon as Niall thought he might be able to rise without shaming himself entirely, he received a barrage of cheeky slaps on his butt and heard Louis crow, “C’mon man, stop fucking the mud!”

And Niall willed his own death.

As usual, it was John who saved him, coming forth and saying, “How about a water break?”

The team found a new platform to back and did so vehemently. Mud splashed and the earth vibrated somewhat as ten able bodied high schoolers charged the benches.

Niall still needed a few more seconds. Eventually, when he rose, a very keen observer might have noticed his half-mast, but Niall managed to distract them with a cheeky grin and the slight obfuscation that the entire ordeal was about how he’d hit his knee on a rock.

~*~

The giddiness screaming in Niall’s brain was making even a task as simple as changing, difficult. All he could think of was the potential for what Louis intended under the bleachers after practice. In an attempt to calm his swirling mind, Niall reminded himself that the highest probability was that Louis intended to smoke weed. A simple glance over his shoulder would tell him that Parker, John and a few teammates were already preparing for a great blaze.

Niall had just pulled his t-shirt over his head and was wadding the material into a ball when he looked up and caught Louis eye. The boy gave him a naughty wink and mouthed the words, ‘under the bleachers’, accompanied with aggressive finger pointing. Niall nodded and gave him the thumbs up as he watched Louis take a loosely rolled joint from John and tuck it discretely in his hip pocket.

After the mud-humping, Niall certainly couldn’t leave without a quick rinse. It was an unremarkable shower and yet the locker room was empty when he returned. He dressed, his heartbeat rising despite his will for it not to, gathered his things and ventured onto the grass.

The stadium lights were still on, giving the pitch an emerald hue. It was gorgeous, really, all that stark green glistening and glinting to the sound of crickets. As he trotted across the breadth of it, he had the wondrous feeling of being the only man alive on earth.

He found the break in the stands – the same place where he had witnessed Harry’s beating after the try-outs, but he forbade that in the forefront of his mind – and ducked into the striped darkness of the under-stands, stumbling toward the triangular clearing Louis had indicated to him. His focus was primarily on his footing, since forgotten soda cans, hats, junk food trays and far more unmentionable objects presented much in the way of hazards on his quest.

However, there was a sound that made him lift his eyes: a soft, rhythmic cooing, punctuated by the occasional metallic creak. As Niall neared the end of the first bank of bleachers, he saw the silhouette of a person – a very oddly shaped person – pressed against the scaffolding. Getting closer, Niall determined it wasn’t one person, but two, joined together in an intimate embrace, rocking together in a primal motion.

It was a girl, Niall realized, as the details of her short skirt and the long hair that spilled over her back became apparent to him – Natalie Plympton, in fact. He recognized her oversized couture purse that was forgotten in the dirt. And around one of her delicate ankles was the flimsy material of a woman’s undergarment and her other leg was raised and hooked around the hip of Louis Tomlinson.

He was fucking her and she was the source of the rhythmic coos and the metal of the bleachers occasionally moaned with her. Louis had her supported in his arms well enough to receive his eager thrusts and she found further support hanging on to some of the scaffolding.

Niall couldn’t make out much of his friend’s face, because it was buried in Natalie’s neck; however as he neared, he kicked an ancient crisps bags out of the way. That made Louis raise his head and suddenly they were staring into each other’s’ eyes.

As much as he wanted to, Niall couldn’t look away, not with how fiercely Louis pinned him with that smoldering gaze. His mouth flickered into an impish smile as if he was offering Niall some sort of gift, and he hoisted the girl further on his hips, pushing up hard to see how loud he could make her moan.

Niall was rooted to the spot, feeling a perfect blend of gutted, confused, and aroused as he watched the boy of his dreams root into someone else. But Louis’ attention wasn’t on the debutante or her pretty moans: his eyes remained unwaveringly on Niall, and Niall couldn’t tell if it was a challenge or an invitation to join.

All he knew for several seconds was that he was watching Louis Tomlinson fuck. Granted, of course, this wasn’t the situation in which he wanted this information revealed to him, but all those questions he’d had earlier of whether or not his fantasies matched the real thing were unequivocally answered: Yes, Louis was dominating and powerful, yes, he would nibble his lover’s ear and work her expertly, yes, most of his moans were in answer to hers as if they were a conversation and yes, from what Niall could tell by the way he was pawing her butt, Louis was an ass man.

That Niall could be hard and heartbroken at the same time was a revelation. The moment Louis broke eye contact – when Natalie sunk her fingers into his hair and pulled a little too hard – Niall turned and bolted. That he made it out from under the bleachers without killing himself was a testament to his animal instincts, which were the only things functioning properly inside him at that moment. Only when he made it out into the cool night air did he stop, pace and make a strange warble that was a half-sob, half-laugh. He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes, either to push the image further into his mind or pluck it out entirely, he was uncertain.

When he blinked into the stadium lights, his vision was abstracted by florescent, floating, amorphous splotches. They cleared after a second, and in their place –

\-- stood Harry. He was leaning against the fence that led out into the street, watching Niall with that detached poker face.

Niall wanted to fall to his knees and plead for mercy, that he couldn’t deal with Harry right now, not after what he had just witnessed. Perhaps it was the confusion that still ruled him that paralyzed him; he remained exactly as he was, even as Harry pushed himself off the fence and came toward him.

He had half-formulated excuses prepared for as to why he hadn’t appeared at Harry’s appointed time and place, but they dissipated like smoke on his lips. Harry circled him slowly, like a curious shark and stopped directly behind him.

“Look, Harry, I –“

A sharp stab under his right rib cut him short. Initially, he had no idea what it was or how badly he was wounded. The analytical part of his mind told him to wait to feel the heat of his own blood drip down his back and the instinctive part of his mind told him to run. However, there was no sticky dribble down his side and he heard Harry’s dark voice say, “Don’t even think about running. Walk.”

“Is that – Is that a knife?”

The response was a shove in the back. Niall stumbled more than he usually would have, due to the shakiness in his limbs. Still, he managed to tread forward, knowing exactly where Harry intended to take him.

His pace was slow but Harry, his elongated shadow, didn’t seem to be in a rush. A few times, Niall attempted to look over his shoulder, but he was dissuaded by repeated jabs to the rib with the knife and he was swiftly trained to keep his eyes front. Despite their lack of speed, the trek to the tool shed next to the woods was barely noticeable to Niall, so fraught was his mind with the confusion of what he had just witnessed as well as what the rest of his night would look like.

When he got to the door of the shed, he stopped as if he was too stupid to figure out how a door was to be overcome. Irritated, Harry shoved it open, then with a prod from the knife, urged Niall inside.

The room was different – instead of the tidy, near-civilized interior that had greeted him previously, the place was a wreck. The stones of the floor had been uprooted and smashed against the walls. The gardening tools had been broken and strewn recklessly across the floor. Even the beautiful, hanging philodendron plant was gone.

Niall heard Harry closing the door behind him and finally felt safe enough to turn around. Harry’s face was petulant, accusing. Never, in their indefinable relationship had Niall ever felt that Harry might actually kill him – and this belief was reinforced when he saw Harry somewhat bashfully pocket the broken pencil he was holding. Now, Niall was just embarrassed to have been taken captive at pencil-point.

Niall’s hands curled into fists as he hugged himself. His chin dropped to his chest and he wanted nothing more than to curl up into his bed and sleep for weeks – or maybe what he really wanted was to run for miles and scream at the top of his lungs. He didn’t know; he just knew that things were easier when he was seven.

Eyes closed, he simply felt and heard Harry come toward him. He turtled, trying to hide even more, but Harry dug him out, lifting his face and excavating him from his shoulders. Agitated, Niall pushed him off and tried to shy away, but Harry caught hold of his wrist and pulled him back. They struggled, Niall doing what he could to push Harry away from him, but every time he managed to make space between them, Harry filled it and reeled him in tighter. Eventually, Harry managed to get one arm pinned behind his back, which kept him pressed chest-to-chest with the smaller boy. Niall’s could feel himself slowly becoming conquered as he tried to twist his other wrist free of Harry’s grip. Exhaustion was defeating Niall faster than Harry was and he dropped his head on the taller boy’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath for a moment.

Harry stopped struggling along with him and they had a momentary truce. The truce ended when Harry ducked in and pressed a needy kiss into Niall’s lips. Niall managed to get a good smack to the other boy’s face, but it did little more than piss him off. Their struggle was renewed, both of them stumbling on the broken and uneven floor tiles and knocking into the furniture in the tiny space.

Then Harry changed his attack. Instead of just trying to control Niall, he battered at him with a barrage of fierce kisses, on his forehead, his cheek, his lips, his neck, his shoulders. He even stopped fussing with Niall’s free arm and instead, took a fistful of Niall’s hoodie to crush him even closer and just kissed him, smearing his lips up Niall’s throat and peppering his jaw when Niall flung his head back.

Niall was pushing hard into Harry’s shoulder, but the lock on him was unyielding. He gave a soft mew and struck at his captor with as much force as he could muster. It only got him kissed harder.

“Huh,” Niall gasped, his face smashed into Harry’s shoulder as the other boy kissed him behind his ear. “Ahh.”

Slowly, he left off hitting. Then he left off struggling. Then he was still in Harry’s arms.

Harry made quick work of his hoodie and t-shirt; at least, as quick as he could, with the way Niall struggled occasionally, fretting protests and petulant objections. It was when Harry was removing his own top that Niall made a quick dodge for the door, but Harry caught him up easily and dropped him back onto the bed.

Things progressed quickly from there. Harry seemed to have more than the normally allotted hand count and Niall was helpless under the barrage of kisses from Harry’s smoldering hot mouth. When they were both completely bare, Harry rested his weight into the cradle of Niall’s hips and pinned his head to the mattress by nuzzling his forehead.

Niall felt the heat of Harry’s every breath on his lips and the way Harry’s curls would tangle into his own lashes.

“I’m going to fuck you, now,” the low thrum of Harry’s voice vibrated into every inch of Niall’s body. His forearms, which were pressed into Harry’s chest, pressed harder at that, but Harry just concentrated his weight more firmly atop him. His heart was battering against his rib cage like a man locked in a sinking ship and his cock pulsed to the same beat.

Harry’s hands swept up the creamy expanse of his thighs and cradled his bottom, parting him and exposing his hole. When he felt the dull tip of Harry’s finger pressing against his ring, he hissed through his teeth and his blue eyes went wide. “Harry!”

Harry subdued him by kissing his temple and pinning him down with his strong shoulders. Niall struggled, tried to kick, so his hips were moving when Harry pushed a finger into him. The sensation of it made him go completely still, his body arching up and his foot lifting onto his tip-toes.

“Ahh!” he gasped as Harry began crooking his finger in and out of him. He winced at the intrusion and never felt so vulnerable and exposed in all his life. Then, Harry’s finger was gone and Niall was flung onto his front, Harry keeping a tight hold of him around his hips with one arm as he grabbed the small tube of lube from the windowsill and popped it open with his teeth.

With his arse in the air like this, Niall could feel his cherry hole completely undefended for whatever Harry wanted to do with him. And what he wanted to do was push two silky-slicked fingers deep inside him. The stretch made Niall panic slightly; Harry’s fingers were thick and long and bony. They were hard inside his soft canal and Niall whined.

“Fuck, Harry—“

“Just relax,” Harry said, clearly feeling Niall clenching down on him. “You’re going to like this.”

There was something in Niall’s mind that he couldn’t admit yet: as scary as it was, the stretch was making his cock weep and even through the pain, the hard pressure was making him tingle all over.

When the third finger was pushed inside him, Niall made a strangled sound and punched his fist hard, three times, into the frail wood wall of the shack. Harry didn’t seem to mind that his habitat was endangered. He simply started working his wrist faster and the leather straps on his bracers were lashing gently at Niall’s cheeks and thighs. Niall twisted, trying to see what it was, but Harry just tugged firmly on his hips and set him right again. Then Harry pushed his fingers deep, past his knuckles and Niall thought he would split.

“Harry! God! Fuck, Harry!”

“Shh, you’re being so good,” Harry purred at him before leaning over and stroking his tongue up Niall’s perineum. The slick tongue behind his balls both soothed him and made his channel even tighter. He started wiggling his hips to get comfortable, and that’s when Harry curled his fingers into that spot. That spot that made him whinny like a colt and sway his hips like a slut.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” Niall heard Harry pant and after one last, sucking kiss between his cheeks, Niall was empty again. He pressed his face into the pillow and panted as his hole winked in response to being suddenly empty.

And that’s when he felt Harry press something large, slippery and throbbing against his anus. He made the sound of a question mark, but then Harry was pushing in. The mushroom head had more give than Harry’s fingers, but was broader by far and Niall felt his whole body start gently trembling as it popped inside him. He yelped sharply and the wall took such a beating, the wood splintered slightly around Niall’s fist.

Harry took hold of Niall’s wrist, preventing him from doing any further damage. Niall’s muscles were clenching and flexing and Harry panted, “Push out – try to push me out, it won’t hurt as much.”

Niall did and felt half of Harry’s considerable length sink deeper into him. He lifted himself up on his free arm with a small cry and bowed his head. He choked softly and felt full and heavy up to his bellybutton as Harry kept pushing inside. When he thought he couldn’t take anymore, he felt the tickle of Harry’s bush at his hole and his full ball sack press against his butt.

“Oh, God,” Niall panted, “Oh, God… Oh, God…”

Harry draped himself over Niall’s back and kissed his shoulder blade, which was standing up, sharp and jagged as Niall struggled to keep himself upright. When Harry shifted to get his knees under himself better, Niall yapped like a wounded pup.

“I can’t – Harry, I can’t—“

“Shhh.” Harry swept his hand up Niall’s back, leaving sensitive goosebumps in its wake. Then he took hold of Niall’s shoulder and started moving inside him. They weren’t real thrusts, just Harry rocking the both of them in the same rhythm, letting Niall get used to moving with him. Niall would startle and Harry would pet his tummy until he relaxed again. In fact, he managed to get Niall so hypnotized that when he started rocking them at counterpoints, it took Niall a few thrusts to realize it. The first giveaway that he was getting properly fucked was the fact that his brain was really starting to cloud with lust.

The gaping vulnerability of his hole suddenly felt so daringly sexy and the cock plunging in and out of him made him feel – well, taken care of.

Harry started taking him a little harder, which made Niall’s heart jump and his junk sway pendulously. Feeling a little out of control, Niall reached back blindly for some point of contact and Harry immediately took hold of his hand and wrapped it around his ribs so he was doubly hugged.

Just when Niall was beginning to feel somewhat secure, however, Harry sat back and brought Niall with him in his lap. The change of position made Harry’s throbbing cock push deeper inside Niall’s trembling hole and Niall whined and gasped, wriggling to get free.

“Relax,” Harry panted against his throat, hugging him tighter with one hand and squeezing his thigh with the other. “C’mon, sit on my cock.”

Those words shot a spike of arousal through Niall that made his balls tuck up eagerly and Niall was too horny to resist such a command. By the time he managed to settle his quivering butt cheeks in Harry’s lap, his head was flung back over the other boy’s shoulder and he was whining with each exhalation.

Harry took hold of his chin and made him turn his head and, for the first time that evening, they locked eyes with each other. Harry had beautiful eyes, Niall had to admit, but more remarkable than their apple green was when Harry smiled.

Harry Styles actually smiled. And, oh my god:

He had dimples.

Even through the fog of hormones, the throbbing in his arse, his inability to catch his breath, his cock, nipples, balls, thighs, butthole, wrists, lips, throat all flush and a-tingle, Niall’s attention suddenly focused on those two tiny dents in the boy’s cheeks.

“Oh,” Niall said, in a voice tinged with wonder.

A moment’s bashfulness flickered across Harry’s face. He said, in that low and sultry drawl that was now even lower and far more sultry, “You make me happy.”

The kiss Harry pulled him into was as slow and rich and decadent as molasses and he started moving his hips in the same way, Niall rising and falling in his lap.

Niall caved.

His hips opened and he gave his weight over to Harry’s strong arms and even stronger thrusts. He moaned into the other boy’s mouth and started experimenting with moving his own hips in time with his lover’s.

Harry wasted no time in taking advantage of Niall’s new enthusiasm. He pushed harder, deeper into Niall’s body and gave him no time to adjust to the new pace. It scrambled Niall’s mind and he only had awareness enough to take hold of the forearm that Harry had braced around his middle.

“Harry,” he panted, the name falling so naturally and shamelessly from his lips that once he started he couldn’t stop. “Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry…” With each thrust he called for his lover, his bully, his protector.

When Harry lifted him off his lap and arranged him on his back, with his legs spread wide, Niall fully realized how quickly he’d come to need this: He gave over entirely to Harry’s manhandling, his body relaxed, his hole loose and wet from Harry’s cock and his own, hard, hot and weeping for release.

Harry entered him again, and although it was far less painful, it still made Niall’s mind spark white. He took the weight of Harry’s hips in his own and clung to his shoulders as Harry took him again. From this position, Harry could kiss him and Niall swiftly became drunk on those kisses. Not so drunk, however, that when the crown of Harry’s penis caught on the cluster of nerves inside him, he didn’t shoot awake with a loud, strangled squeak. And he was awake, more awake than he’d ever been when Harry started driving for that nub. Niall’s fingertips dug into Harry’s back and his moans and whines lost their rounded edges and became sharp, needy and desperate.

“Like that?” Harry panted in his ear, and Niall could tell by the swelling and throbbing of the cock that was plunging in and out of his boy quim that Harry was just as close as he was. “Do you like my big cock inside you, Niall?”

“Yeah!” Niall gasped.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Oh, God, yes, I’m going to--!”

Then, Harry’s hand closed around his pulsing cock and with one, two, three strokes, Niall came. His spine curled as his orgasm ripped through him, from the core of his arousal deep in his belly, straight out of the top of his head. He felt the new sensation of coming while someone was thrusting inside him and his muscles bore down on Harry’s shaft, which seemed to both prolong his orgasm and set Harry off as well. Harry buried his face into Niall’s neck and choked back his groans as he pumped his load deep into Niall’s willing arse.

Niall Horan, as he knew himself, was utterly destroyed.

Harry’s thrusts eventually slowed, but Niall felt his come slowly trickle from his hole, down the small of his back. Harry’s cock slipped from Niall and slowly, he lifted himself from the other boy and helped him lower his legs back to the bed. Niall watched him, black framing the edges of his vision.

The last thing he saw before exhaustion plucked him away was Harry’s smile and his last thought was:

Dimples.


	18. Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, my friends! Sorry to have been away for so long -- working on other projects, but I haven't forgotten you! This sucker will be completed, oh, yes, it will!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

As Niall slept the uneasy sleep of someone in an unfamiliar bed, he was reimagining a conversation he had overheard two girls having at their lockers in the hallways of his old school in Mullingar.

“Do you feel different?” Fiona Bishop had asked Christina O’Bannon as they huddled together in their perfectly ironed school uniforms.

“No,” Christina had replied. “It’s just sex. Wait til you do it, you’ll see it’s not a big deal. I don’t feel different at all.”

“I do,” Niall said, even though he hadn’t participated at all in the conversation at the time. The two girls looked at him as if he was a third member of their party and not some obnoxious younger boy who had no business looking at them. “I don’t feel like I did before.”

“That’s because you did something wrong,” Fiona told him, unflinching. Dream-Niall blinked back at her, the severity on her face causing him no small amount of anxiety.

“What do you mean?”

“You had sex with that boy. You don’t love him.”

“You’re a slag,” Christina concluded.

“Don’t be stupid – I’m a boy.”

“Boys can be slags, too,” Fiona insisted. “Queer boys are the worst kinds of slags. Didn’t you know?”

“Niall’s a dirty slag!” Christina told the hall that was now filling with people. “Niall’s a dirty slag!”

“Niall’s a dirty slag!” Every classmate he’d ever had began jeering at him. “Niall’s a dirty slag! Niall’s a dirty slag!”

“And look what he’s got dripping down his thigh!” Christina yelled over the clamor, pointing at Niall’s naked behind, where something white and creamy was dripping out of him –

He jerked awake with a start. His heart was pounding, his flesh was sweaty and there was, indeed, something tickling his nethers. He pushed his hand under the blanket and ran his hand along himself. Christina had been right – there was come slicked and smeared on his inner thighs.

In a moment’s panic, he looked around the small shack. Daybreak was just making itself known and the bird chorus was serenading him from several different points in the forest. Beside him, his arms flung up over his head defensively, was Harry, dead asleep.

“Harry,” Niall shook him with his clean hand. “Harry, wake up! Wake up!”

When Harry’s eyes opened, they were uncannily alert and aware, as if Harry needed no time to transition from dead-to-the-world to ready-to-face-danger. “What?”

“Harry, you didn’t use a condom. You came in me and you didn’t use a condom!”

Sensing that there was no immediate threat, Harry’s alert clarity dulled and he rolled back onto the mattress, his eyes falling shut. “So? You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

Well, not anymore, and that was the problem.

“Yes, but you aren’t! Harry, I could – you could’ve given me something! It wasn’t safe!” In his mind’s eye, Niall could only envision a future in which he would never be able to have sex again because, during his first experience, he contracted something so heinous and unsavory that he was forever untouchable. Niall wasn’t imagining a specific disease, just something that involved a lot of puss.

“I don’t have anything,” Harry mumbled, clearly intending to drop back to sleep.

“How do you know that? You can’t know that! Most STD’s don’t have any symptoms for a few –“

“I don’t have anything!” His eyes were open again and he lifted himself back up onto his elbows. “I know I don’t have anything, ok?”

“You can’t _know_ —“

“Yes, I can.” Harry was more tired and exhausted than he was annoyed. “I got tested when I left juvie. I’m clean.” Then, taking advantage of Niall’s subsequent stupefaction, Harry reclined and got comfortable. “And I haven’t fucked anyone else since then.”

“They give you an STD test before you leave juvie?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Harry groaned in the affirmative, closing his eyes again.

“Why?”

“There’s a lot of sex in juvie.”

“Did you have sex in juvie?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“A lot of it?”

“Niall, go to sleep.” He rolled onto his side, his back to Niall. Niall wasn’t having it; he took hold of Harry’s shoulder and pulled on him. “Talk to me about it,” he pleaded. “Please. I need – I need to hear about you. I need to hear about sex. Please. Just talk to me.”

“Why?”

“I just had a nightmare.”

Harry let out the sigh of agony that lived in the hearts of all who just wanted to get some goddamn sleep. He gouged his eyes with the bony knuckles of his hands before letting his arms flop to the mattress in defeat.

“There was a boy named Julio there and we shared a bunk. We fucked a lot.”

Niall thought about that. For every tidbit of information Harry gave him, he wanted a thousand more. “Was it… like a protection type thing? A trade?”

“What?”

“Like, you protected him in exchange—“

“No,” a shred of annoyance laced Harry’s voice. “You watch too much TV. We just fucked. For fun. Juvie’s boring as shit.”

Niall looked over at Harry in the moonlight. His tattoos were dark against his moon-illuminated skin and small goosebumps gave them texture. It was cold in the field at night.

“But… what did it… Is that all it was? Fun? It didn’t mean anything?”

“Niall—“ Harry looped one of his sinewey arms around Niall’s neck and dragged him back onto the mattress, stuffing him under his shoulder as if by having him pinned, he could keep him quiet. “Just go to sleep.”

But Niall couldn’t. The dream still lingered, pricking him repeatedly with shameful stabs and occasionally, the drip from his backside would tickle him to his core. Despite the warmth of being under Harry’s body, Niall slipped from beneath him and sat up again, tucking his knees to his chest and resting his head on them. Clearly, Harry wasn’t the one to come to with his problems. The boy had probably never even seen comfort before, so how was he supposed to administer it?

He thought of putting his clothes on and leaving, but the cold of the open air seemed overwhelming. He was desperate for someone to talk to, even to the point where he considered taking his phone into the field to call Zayn. His muscles were primed for getting up and leaving, when Harry said in a deep slur, “Not everything has to mean something.”

“What?” the boy splashed out on the bed behind him hadn’t moved and seemed to be talking in his sleep.

“Not everything has to mean something.” He moved then, blinking briefly and curling to where he could face Niall, even though his eyes went fast shut again. “You lost your virginity. So what? Stop trying to figure it out.”

“I’m not trying to figure it out, I just…” Well, no. He was. He was trying to figure it out: What it meant, who it made him, what sort of person he was supposed to be now. As he’d told the girl in the dream, he didn’t feel the same.

“C’mere.”

A strong hand collared his neck and he was pulled down into Harry’s shoulder, suddenly swaddled in a pair of strong arms. Harry tucked him in tightly as if by smothering him, he could put out his worries.

To some extent, it helped. But there was still din in Niall’s mind.

“Harry, talk to me,” he said, having a momentary flash of how needy he was being.

Another long-suffering sigh.

“About what?”

“Anything. Anything, just – tell me a story. Tell me about your first time.”

“No.”

“Please?” Niall took hold of Harry’s shoulder, threatening to dig himself back out. “Just tell me who it was with? How old were you?”

Harry was quiet and felt his shoulder stiffen under his hand.

“I was fourteen,” Harry seemed to say through clenched teeth. Instinctively, Niall stroked a hand across his flesh, suddenly now more curious than ever.

“Who was she?”

“Sleep.”

It was a command Niall was unable to follow. He stayed curled obediently in Harry’s arms, even as he felt those arms go slack around him as Harry drifted off. His eyes were open, eyelashes fluttering occasionally against Harry’s neck, eliciting a few wiggles and huffs from his bedmate. From his position, he could look to the side and see some of the wall over Harry’s shoulder. It was the same slate grey he’d always seen in this field, only this time, it was subtly transformed by the sparkle of moonlight. He watched as that sparkle became more prominent and he knew morning was coming fast upon them.

As was usual in the morning, Niall found himself rather thirsty. Moving so as to not disturb Harry, who hadn’t so much as moved in the last several hours, Niall slipped to the dresser, where he knew Harry kept a probably highly carcinogenic water bottle in the top drawer.

Niall had never seen into the top drawer of Harry’s dresser. As expected, the water bottle was there, and Niall prudently made use of it; it was what was underneath that caught his interest, however. In the weak light, all he could discern was the white of paper and a few strokes of pencil. Niall’s first thought and hope was that perhaps it was a journal, as full of secrets and insights as was his own. It was this hope that made him greedily reach in, so hungry was he to learn all the things Harry’s tight-lippedness prevented him from sharing.

He was disappointed, but only so far as in it wasn’t a journal. It was a notebook, filled with pencil markings, but not a single word among the pages: only sketches. And not typical high-school boy sketches of super heroes, carnage or boobs. These were houses; page after page of houses. The early entries showed sophomoric scrawls from the passer-by point of view, but as Niall turned the pages, the drawings became less superficial and less literal. They began to more closely resemble blue prints, bisections of entire houses or just single rooms. The furniture, poorly drawn but still identifiable, became more frequent and prominent. In one particular sketch, the paper was nearly worn through with an ardently traced circle inclosing a small square that floated above uneven floorboards.

Plastic water bottle straw lodged firmly between his teeth, Niall shuffled back to the edge of the bed and sat, hoping to glean some sort of information from these pages, even if it had to be by his own interpretation. The zealous circling of floating squares was a recurring motif, appearing in over half of the latter submissions. Every kind of house was represented, from the very shack they were sharing in this instant, to grand mansions, to rustic cabins, to modern lofts, to structures that resembled gypsy trailers.

When he neared the final pages of the notebook, he heard a deep sigh beside him and, for the first time in hours, Harry shifted and blinked himself awake. Processing everything far more quickly than a half-awake mind should, Harry took in Niall, the water bottle and the notebook and seemed to put everything together.

“I dream in houses,” he said by way of explanation, his voice strikingly sexy with just-awoken raspiness.

“In houses?” Niall asked softly.

“Every night. I dream of houses.”

Harry flung his arms over his head and torqued his body, shoulders going one way, hips going the other, giving him serpentine shapelessness.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, releasing the stretch with a sigh.

“These are really beautiful,” Niall offered. They weren’t beautiful in the traditional sense, or even well-executed, but he was addicted to reviewing them, as if the next illustration would be the key to unlock everything that came before it.

“They’re just stupid sketches. They get stuck in my head if I don’t get them out.”

“What are these?” Niall asked, pointing to the ubiquitous circle-and-square combinations.

Harry rubbed at his eyes and sniffed before saying blandly. “The outlets.”

“Outlets?”

“Yeah. I have nightmares a lot. Get out of ‘em by sticking my fingers in the outlets; wakes me up. So I try to keep track of where they are.”

Harry’s delivery was so casual, Niall was almost lulled into believing there wasn’t anything morbid in that. In the pit of his stomach, however, he felt uneasy. “Did you dream of houses last night?”

“No,” Harry replied, “I didn’t dream at all.”

Niall closed the notebook. He held it on his lap, very much aware of how Harry’s notebook felt like his own.

~*~

Next day, the 6th hour meeting-Zayn-in-the-Library ritual couldn’t come early enough. Apparently, Niall’s best friend had procured himself a rather alarming pair of tortoise-shell spectacles that looked better suited to a sixty year old librarian with wrinkly, perpetually pursed lips.

“What?”

“Zayn, those glasses.”

“I know! Cool, huh?”

“Well…”

“What?”

“I mean… You’re so good looking, why are you always hiding it?”

“Are you trying to tell me my glasses are hideous or that you are secretly madly in love with me?”

“Can’t it be a little of both?”

“Well, then fuck you and thank you.”

“It’s me or the glasses, Zayn. You can’t have both. My love is a rare and precious thing.”

“So are these glasses.”

“What, you stole them off Ronnie Corbett’s mad aunt?”

“Who?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Hey, who are you taking to homecoming?”

“Oh—Uh… I haven’t. I haven’t even thought about it.”

“Well, you have to take someone. You’re on the soccer team, after all.”

“Is that a written rule? Soccer players have to go to homecoming?”

“Well, no, but homecoming’s all about the athletes. It’s, like, a ball for you.”

“I’m not really into dancing.”

“First off, you’re a liar. And secondly, nobody really dances. You mostly just stand around listening to bad music, trying to figure out what you have to do to get some.”

“I can’t go alone?”

“You could, but it would be lame.”

“Who are you taking? Hannah?”

“Ew,” Zayn’s lip curled derisively, but it wasn’t as terrible as it used to be. When he caught Niall’s look, he rolled his eyes. “Alright. She’s cool. But I’m not taking her to homecoming. I think Emily James is sniffing around me.”

“Emily James sniffs around everyone.”

“Sexist.”

“It’s not--! Ok.”

“Why aren’t you going with the Plymps?”

“I’m not—I don’t—She’s—“ He flinched away the images that name brought up, but couldn’t find the words.

“She’s not Eleanor?” Zayn supplied, lowering his voice and smirking knowingly.

“What?”

“You see her at lunch today?”

Niall had to wrack his brain. He had spent his lunch as he always did: Sitting with Zayn and Hannah, but keeping a steady bead on Louis out of the corner of his eye. Louis had been primarily with Liam, although he had flitted around to visit with some of the other footballers. But, no. Niall hadn’t seen Eleanor at lunch today. Except, perhaps, right when he walked into the cafeteria and next to the door, at a table alone, he did see that sleek shower of brown hair and a pair of curious eyes reach for his. He probably gave her the generic smile he gave to all people he wished generic wellness to, but didn’t want to engage with. Then he had walked by.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. They used to be inseparable. Trouble in paradise.”

The realization dawned on Niall slowly.

“They’ve broken up?”

“Not yet, I don’t think. Probably trying to keep it together for the homecoming crowns.” Zayn’s gold eyes glinted then and he shrugged with one shoulder. “Looks like you may have a chance, if you time it right.”

“Maybe,” Niall said wistfully, dreaming of someone else. “Hey, Zayn,” he said suddenly.

“Still here.”

“I have a weird question for you…” Niall took his friend’s arm and wove them through a narrow path of library tables and a few bookshelves. Once they were secluded at the back of the Biography section, where no one cared to venture, Niall said, his voice still hushed, “If… If there’s this mate of yours, right, and he tells you to meet him somewhere because he wants to show you something—“

“Ew.”

“Ew? Why ew? I haven’t even told you anything yet!”

“I know, but ew. It sounds like he was going to whip it out.”

“Whip what out?”

“His dick! What, were you born yesterday?”

“Is this an American thing? ‘I want to show you something’ means ‘I want to show you my dick’?”

“Oh, shit! Some guy showed you his dick?”

“No!”

“Then what are we talking about?”

Niall put his hand over his face and sighed to calm himself. “I had a friend who said he wanted to show me something – it wasn’t his dick!” he added hastily so Zayn wouldn’t tease him further. “It was a girl… I mean, it was him having sex with a girl.”

Zayn blinked only once. “Holy shit, who was it?”

“I’m not telling.”

“Niall, you have to tell me who it was!”

“No!”

“Was it someone on your team? Oh, fuck, Niall, if it was someone on your team, you have to tell me!”

“I don’t have to tell you a damn thing!”

Zayn actually did a little dance, something like a box step of disbelief. “That is so fucking weird!”

“Keep your voice down!”

“Why did he do that?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you! Is that—“

“No, it’s not an American thing. That’s weird.”

There was a moment’s silence, where they were thinking together. Zayn broke it with, “You have to t—“

“I’m not telling you who it was!”

More silence, much thinking.

“Was he showing off?”

“Very possibly.”

“Was he staking a claim?”

“Uhhhh… I really don’t think so.”

“Hghn. Oh… Oh wait,” Zayn said, his voice suddenly foreboding. “Was he, like looking at you like this and like—“ Zayn became possessed by some primal thrusting god, rolling his hips like there was a girl astride them and curling his tongue against the soft flesh of his own lips all while giving Niall a smoldering gaze whose power was only mitigated by those ridiculously ugly glasses he wore.

“Tell me that’s not what sex with you looks like.”

“Come on, man! Was he eye-fucking you?”

Thinking back, God yes, Niall’s clearest recollection of the incident was Louis’ eyes boring into his own. Eye-fucking might be a stretch of an over-active imagination, but Niall had to concede, “Yes.”

Zayn clapped his hands as if he’d tied up the case with a pretty bow on top. “There it is, then. You have a pervert on your hands.”

“A pervert?”

“He probably wanted to get off on you getting off watching him. Or maybe he wanted to imagine he was fucking you or something. Who the fuck knows with people like that?”

The bell rang and Zayn nodded at him to start back to their classes. When Niall didn’t follow him, he stopped and looked back at him. The thunderstruck look on Niall’s face was nearly humorous. “Niall,” Zayn snapped to pop him out of it. “Dream about your pervert boyfriend later. Come on.”

Niall, still stupefied by the import of Zayn’s hypothesis, stumbled after him.

~*~

Sitting at the table, enjoying the rubbery steak Maura had ruined for them, listening to Louis exact a song and dance tuned to the key of ‘parents’, Niall couldn’t help but wonder who he’d become. Part of him felt dastardly for luring a boy to his house under the pretense of a nice dinner with the parents, knowing full well all he intended was to get him naked in his bed and make a squeaky toy out of him.

Louis was recanting the stories of his previous wins as homecoming king. Niall’s mother was captivated by the story, only looking away to either retrieve or replace her wine glass. In those instances when she did, Louis would peek over at Niall, give him a secretive smile to celebrate how well he was snowing the older set. Niall would smile back and imagine him naked.

Later, when they were doing dishes, as Louis had cunningly offered to help with, he casually asked Niall, “You get FIFA 15, yet?”

Niall had sworn a lifetime of chores to get the soccer game the day it came out. “Yeah.”

“Awesome! I haven’t played it, yet! Loser has to wash the winner’s kit!”

“How about loser does his own damn French homework this time?” Niall returned out of the side of his mouth. All it got him was a nasty thwack in the butt with a rolled up dishtowel.

Louis was, predictably, good at FIFA. He played the Rovers while Niall, of course, chose Derby County. Niall wasn’t bad, per se, but he really couldn’t match Louis’ reaction time. And his morale was in a terrible state because whenever Louis made goal, he would put on a full display of victory, sometimes even dancing on the sofa in a way Mrs. Horan would never allow if he weren’t someone she had a mother-crush on.

To be fair, it was difficult for Niall to concentrate on the game when there were so many other things he’d rather be doing with Louis – snogging him, for one. For two and three, he’d also like to interrogate him about the apparent rift between him and Eleanor and then grill him on what the hell he was trying to prove yesterday under the bleachers.

But any time he tried—

“So, you and El…”

\-- Louis just took advantage of his momentary lack of focus to score a goal on him, which resulted in the established couch-jumping celebratory dance. But Niall didn’t mind terribly, because when Louis finally landed, he draped his knees over Niall’s lap as cozily as if he was just another piece of furniture.

When halftime finally arrived, Louis tossed his controller on the ottoman and pulled Niall’s head to his chest, rumpling his hair affectionately. “You’d better play real soccer better than that next Thursday!”

Niall laughed and rough-housed with him, grappling to get him pinned. “Maybe I’d do better if my own team wasn’t tackling me into the mud!”

Louis, for all his slenderness was wirey and strong and he managed to keep Niall at a distance. “You were being a sneaky little shit!” Louis laughed at him as Niall went red in the face trying to get some sort of leverage. When his knees came into play, Louis wriggled and cackled madly, “Don’t kneel on my bladder, I gotta pee!” He went slithering onto the floor in order to escape and dripped out from under Niall.

“Where’s your bathroom?”

“There’s a little one down the hall, or the nice one upstairs,” Niall caught his breath, smiling.

Louis hopped to his feet. “I’m going upstairs. It might be a long haul, if you knowhaddamean.”

“Gross!” Niall flung a pillow at him, but Louis skirted out of the way, sprinting up the stairs, his chittering audible until the click of the bathroom door upstairs.

Niall sighed. He felt giddy with hope and happiness. He flopped onto his back, watching the animated men on his screen chase after an animated ball and felt that perhaps this world was going to let him carve out a little bit of happiness after all.

Louis was gone for some time, but Niall didn’t think much of it, because he knew how a long haul could be sometimes. He picked up his controller and scrolled through some stats, looked at his line up, planned how he was going to kick Louis’ ass when he returned.

But even after he had done all the housekeeping he could think to do, Louis still hadn’t reappeared. Niall became apprehensive. He couldn’t recall whether or not he’d heard the upstairs toilet flush and he thought he’d just go check – not that he thought Louis would have fallen in or anything, but it had been over ten minutes.

Upon ascending the stairs, he saw that the bathroom door was open and the light was off. “Louis?” The door to his parent’s room was closed, as well as that to his father’s study, so he approached the only open, illuminated door on the level, which happened to be his own.

When he looked inside, it took his brain a moment to process what he was seeing. First, he saw nothing alarming – just Louis sitting at his desk, reading over something. But a panic so hot he was momentarily paralyzed struck him when he realized exactly what it was: His notebook; _that_ notebook.

In the next instant, he went into a full-body convulsion as he tore the notebook from Louis’ hands fast and hard enough that a few pages got torn.

“What are you doing?” he snapped as if it wasn’t bloody obvious. Before Louis had come over that evening, he had been writing frantically in his notebook about his sexual encounter with Harry, but oh, please god, don’t let Louis have been reading over that. Determined to see what exactly Louis had seen, Niall looked down at the notebook, still open to the same page it had been open to when Niall had ripped it from his hands.

‘And I get him right up to the six yard box and I look at him and he’s looking at me and I can tell he loves me.’ Thank god, it looked like Louis had started at the beginning. Wait, don’t thank god because that meant Louis read all the –

“So, you’re in love with me, huh?”

Niall experienced that moment where he would’ve gladly wiped out the entirety of human history if only it meant wiping out Louis seeing his notebook along with it. When he lifted his eyes from the page and saw that boy looking at him with that arrogant smirk (that same smirk he’d worn that night right before Niall almost got brutally hazed) that lifted the corner of his mouth to reveal his small, sharp teeth.

“I don’t – It’s… It’s just a—“

“I knew it,” Louis said, rising from Niall’s desk chair. “Everyone thinks it’s El you’re after, but I knew it was all about me.”

Niall hated that smirk, and he saw it getting closer and closer as Louis slunk toward him, high on his ill-gotten gossip.

“You shouldn’t have read that,” Niall said, unable to look at him, feeling pressure behind his eyes. “You had no right to read that.”

“So, what’re you going to do? Kiss me and kiss me and kiss me and kiss me?”

Right now, Niall wanted to punch him and punch him and punch him and punch him. Louis advanced on him, his expression unreadable, giving Niall nothing in the way of clues as to how to proceed. His eyes flickered to his lips, hoping to see them go soft, in preparation for kisses, or into a harder, meaner sneer. But it seemed Louis’ only intention was to crowd him and watch him squirm.

“Louis—“ Niall cowered, trailing off.

“What? What? Say something.”

Niall’s jaw dropped but he couldn’t wedge the words out of his mouth. They huddled, terrified at the back of his throat. He could only imagine this would lead to the entire school coming down on him, faster and with a greater force than he could hope to escape. Even Harry couldn’t defend him from this.

“Niall! Fuck,” Louis huffed, disappointed. “If you won’t tell me, guess I’ll have to see for myself, huh?”

Before Niall could figure out what such an elusive comment meant, Louis snatched the notebook back out of his hand and flung it open somewhere in the middle, retreating defensively to the other side of the room.

Niall, of course, freaked out and launched himself at the other boy’s back. They grappled, Louis maintaining a strong defensive position Niall couldn’t break and he could hear Louis reading aloud, “He has two doves on his chest and a big butterfly, but he calls it a moth, on his ribs…”

That’s when Louis stopped struggling and Niall managed to rip his journal free from him again. “That is none of your business!” Niall hissed at him, panting harshly, his heart pounding despite how brief their scuffle had been.

Louis was clearly unimpressed with Niall’s rage, but what seemed to break him out of his superior smirking was, “Those are Harry Styles’ tattoos…”

“Louis, get out,” Niall was trembling. “Just get—“

“How do you know what Harry Styles’ tattoos look like?”

“Gym.”

“He doesn’t change for gym, everyone knows that.”

“Well—“ Niall’s mind couldn’t scramble for an excuse fast enough.

“Niall, are you fucking Harry Styles?”

Niall’s mouth dropped open and he felt himself prime to either attack or run, but that was when Maura Horan, with her perfectly rubbish timing, stuck her head in the door and chirped, “Everything alright in here? I heard yelling.”

With uncanny verisimilitude, Louis’ features slipped into the faultless mask of a sweet, young man and he said cheerfully, “Of course, Mrs. Horan. We’re just horsing around.”

Niall kept his back to his mother, knowing he would give up the game if she saw his face. He heard her give a simpering laugh and she said, “I’ll just shut the door, then. Bobby’s watching one of his science programs in the den and he likes to concentrate. You boys let me know if you need anything.”

She shut the door with a clang of doom. Niall’s journal was fisted in his hand in case Louis tried to grab for it again.

“Of course he went after you, he’s always had a thing for athletes.”

Niall’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Styles. It’s like, every year, he goes for some poor new kid. I mean, he’s made a move on almost everyone on the team. He even blew Liam in the equipment locker, once. I had to chase him out.”

Louis’ face was pretty unreadable. If Niall had to guess, he would say there was probably a tinge of bitterness beneath all that amused derision.

“What about you?”

“What _about_ me?” Louis snapped and, sure, there was the bitterness, plain as day.

After what Louis had seen – stolen from him really – in his journal, Niall really felt no reservation about charging right into Louis’ personal business. “Did you ever fuck Harry Styles?”

The expletive was sharp on his tongue and Louis scoffed at his apparent distress. “He was in love with me sophomore year. Kept following me around everywhere.” He shrugged, and related casually, “We fooled around a little bit, nothing serious; but then, he got, like – crazy. So I told coach what he was doing and Harry got banned from the field and stuff.”

Niall stared in jaw-hanging confusion. He should have been so happy at what he heard: Louis Tomlinson fooled around with boys. However, that message was obscured behind the bewildering heartache and embarrassment of knowing this behavior of Harry’s toward him was not the special, singular attention he had interpreted it to be.

“I guess I should’ve known when I heard about all that stuff in the field. What actually happened there?”

“It wasn’t a big – It was just those assholes were –“ Niall’s air was coming to him in uneven puffs, making his entire system feel shaky. “You like boys?”

Louis shrugged, “A hot mouth down there is a hot mouth down there. I mean, I’ve never been in _love_ with a guy or anything.”

“But Harry? You made out with Harry? Were you like his--? What did he say to you?”

“Why are we talking about Harry?” There was a trace of annoyance lacing the casual, superior attitude Louis had assumed during their conference. He stalked toward Niall, but this time Niall wasn’t backing down as he had before. “It’s not him you’re in love with,” Louis continued, pretending to be confused about the turn the conversation had taken. “I thought I was the one with the neon sign over my head that said, ‘This is the one’!”

He was so close now, Niall could see the scraggly cross-hatching of facial hair on his upper lip; and his lips, once spotted, captivated Niall to the point of staring. He felt his own breath coming fast and close and for once that critical, analytical voice in his head went silent.

“Well?” Those lips he was staring at quirked up on both ends and commanded, “Go on.”

And, half mad to consider it and wholly mad to do it, Niall took Louis by the back of the neck and hauled him in for a kiss that came straight from the belly of his want. All his practice with Harry had paid off: Kissing was no longer just an animal mating ritual, but a conversation and Niall’s kiss confirmed all the love words he had written in his journal. He pulled Louis onto his chest with one arm and sunk his fingers deep into his hair with the other. Now he knew how it must have felt to Adam to have Eve in his arms for the first time.

Before he could even be sure whether his kiss was returned, however, Louis was wiggling out of his arms, creating space between them.

“Wh-whoa, just… Just slow down a second ok?”

Reigning in his kisses, Niall kept a firm lock on Louis’ slim waist and saw that the swaggering bravado Louis had used to taunt him was retreating at a hasty pace. It was clear Louis knew not the scope of the monster he was teasing and was shocked by the onslaught. “Just chill out, ok? Don’t go full Harry on me.”

The comparison disoriented Niall a bit. “I wouldn’t—I’m not—“ Except he was. He wanted to pin Louis to the bed, smother him in devastating kisses, strip him bear and, by God, he needed to make him come.

“Let’s just… I mean, don’t take this seriously, ok?” Louis shrugged, backing out of Niall’s embrace and retreating to the bed, where he sat and curled up on himself a little bit. There was still a hint of that Artful Dodger, all knowing grin, but it was hedged in with uncertainty. And it was that uncertainty that provided a window for Niall’s courage.

“That whole—Under the bleachers; that thing with Natalie Plympton. That was – What was that all about?” he asked.

Louis gave a scoff as to imply it wasn’t a matter worth mentioning and brought his dirty shoes up onto the comforter. That Maura hadn’t barked at him to take them off immediately when he entered the house showed her favoritism.

“We hook up sometimes,” Louis dismissed, “No big deal.”

“But why did I have to see it?”

A cheeky wink. “I thought you might like it. Did you?”

No, frankly. It had confused and distressed him, but the boy of his dreams was reclining comfortably in his bed and he didn’t want to ruin that. Carefully, he sat next to him and said, “It was alright.”

“She’s almost always hot for it. It’s the only reason she watches the practices.”

Niall didn’t want to talk about Natalie Plympton anymore and he was sorry he’d brought it up. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he was enchanted, as always, by the symmetry of the boy’s face.

He wanted to make a move. Louis had allowed a kiss, after all, who knew what more might be permissible in his mind.

“Who you taking to homecoming?” Louis asked, as if they hadn’t just had their faces smashed together moments before. Niall stealthily scooted closer to him and shrugged casually. “I don’t know. Thought maybe I’d give it a miss.”

“You can’t,” Louis said, sitting forward abruptly. “Everyone on the team has to go, and has to go with someone hot, ok? If you don’t, we all look lame. Besides,” he gave Niall a healthy wallop on the arm. “That’s the whole point of being on the soccer team! You get to bang whoever you want!”

This present situation was proving to Niall how that statement wasn’t entirely true.                                       

“Take Natalie. She still thinks you’re hot – shit, she thinks you’re even hotter, because she’s never been rejected before. I mean, that works for you, man, the whole, y’know, mystical, I’m-an-elf-from-fantasy-land type vibe. I’m gonna go with Eleanor. I mean, she eats that stuff up and, yeah, homecoming royalty is really important; especially with this three year streak I’ve got going, it’s going to be really impressive to the schools I’m trying to—“

The press of Niall’s mouth on his cut him off. The sidetracking had annoyed the Irishman and the expressive motion of his lips had been far too tempting. His attack was less voracious this time and he could feel Louis’ lips moving against his, now. It was not as graceful as Harry’s to say the least. It was more of a chomping motion, sucking on Niall’s lips, then releasing them, only to close back around them again.

Niall didn’t know how to deal with such a strange kissing technique and didn’t care much having his face chewed on, so he ducked to press some careful kisses along his neck. That seemed to make the other boy a little wiggly and shortly, there was a hand clamped around Niall’s wrist, urging it down to the fly of his jeans.

“Hey,” Louis said and Niall could hear the dishevelment in his voice. “Down here, yeah?”

The bulge at the front of his jeans was warm and lively and Niall curled his hand around it, earning him a soft, needy choke from the other boy. Louis’ long-lashed eyelids lulled closed and watching them flutter, Niall felt the delirium of lust fog his mind. He made short work of his love’s fly and fumbled eagerly with the navy blue briefs that hugged jealously at the straining flesh beneath.

Louis’ cock was much thicker than Niall had expected. It was a beautiful, dusky reddish tan and Niall was unsurprised to see he groomed himself into a stylish little ‘v’. Even his balls were well-tended and Niall was so curious to see how far back that fastidiousness descended.

“Put it in your mouth,” came the husky demand and Niall balked. He’d never done that before. For all his experimenting with Harry, he’d never actually had another boy’s prick in his mouth. It made his jaw feel tight and his mouth go dry.

“Um,” he said, “I haven’t – I’ve never done that before…”

“Really?” Louis snorted with an incredulity that stung a little bit. “Well, there’s a first time for everything – give it a try.”

Niall licked his lips as he bolstered himself. He had fantasized about this so many times, and that was practically practice, wasn’t it? He pulled his hand over the boy’s silky dick a few more times before taking a deep breath and diving forward face-first with his mouth open.

The first thing he noticed was the cock felt bigger in his mouth than it did in his hand. He experimented with pushing his lips as far down as they would go, and realized that wasn’t terribly far. It took maybe a few bobs before his jaw started to hurt.

“You’re doing good,” Louis’ heavy voice fell upon him. “Really good, Ni, just... careful with your teeth, ok?”

In response, Niall gave a very nasally grunt and tried to enjoy himself despite the fact that he felt like his performance wasn’t necessarily stacking up. He was surprised and warmed when Louis sunk his fingertips into Niall’s hair and rubbed his scalp. It made him relax and go about his task with far more enthusiasm. Regrettably, this made him pull his lips away from his teeth somewhat and he felt Louis’ whole body scissor with a high-pitched yelp.

“Fuck, fuck!” Louis whined.

“What? What?” Niall asked, sitting up abruptly.

Louis’ beautiful, delicate features were crumpled in a wince and he was tucked protectively around his hips. “Your teeth—Aw, fuck… Your teeth caught on the head of my dick.”

“S-sorry.” It felt woefully inadequate for how remorseful Niall truly was. For a moment he questioned whether he would have to commit seppuku. His first chance with Louis Tomlinson and he had blown it. Well… he had blown the blowing.

“Just—give me a second,” the boy wheezed, trying to get his jeans back up around his hips to make himself presentable enough to slip out of Niall’s door and presumably to the bathroom.

Niall watched him go just long enough to tip his head into his hands and groan. There was no doubt in his mind that Natalie Plympton had never, ever caught her teeth on the head of anyone’s dick. He could only pray that this situation was salvageable and he determined that he would take Louis’ lead when he returned.

When he did, a short while after, he was walking somewhat awkwardly.

“Are you alright?” Niall asked, guilt riddled.

“Yeah,” Louis sighed, perching on the edge of the bed as if making himself comfortable would mean more teeth chewing on his privates. Luckily, Louis seemed more embarrassed than angry, which gave Niall the option of dealing with this humorously.

“Well, I can practice on a banana and get better.”

The sound Louis made was of genuine amusement and he looked over at Niall again, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll even learn how to put a condom on it with just my mouth.”

His efforts paid off and Louis was giggling and rocking himself in delight. “Condoms – pffft!”

Niall laughed with him, bringing himself a bit closer to Louis on the bed while Louis simultaneously did the same to him. “Um,” Niall said, his forehead perilously close to nuzzling into Louis’ shoulder. “Maybe after I practice, I could try again some time.”

He felt his temple get warm as Louis turned his face toward him and then the words, “Yeah, that’d be cool,” ghosted across his ear.

Relieved, Niall leaned in to kiss the side of his mouth. To his delight, Louis responded, treating him to gentle pecks that soon deepened and Niall found himself descending into the madness that was being able to touch what he never thought was touchable and having what he’d yearned after for so long.

They indulged in kisses and shy petting until, at around ten o’clock, Maura knocked on the door, asking through the wood if Louis had intentions of staying the night. As much as Niall wanted him to, Louis insisted there was no way his parents would let him stay over on a school night. So, they parted at the door, Niall hovering a few feet off the ground, his eyes dewy and his giggles a little more highly pitched.

“Are we going to see more of you, Mr. Tomlinson?” Maura asked, leaning over her son’s shoulder.

“I hope so, Mrs. Horan,” Louis said, giving Niall a cheeky wink. “I certainly hope so.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think??
> 
> What will Harry do when he finds out?
> 
> Who should Niall take to homecoming?
> 
> Is Nouis true love?
> 
> Is Harry just scoring notches on the bedpost with athletes?
> 
> Who will win homecoming court?
> 
> Why is oral sex so embarrassing?


	19. Gear Up

_When am I going to burn you? I have to be the stupidest twat to ever keep a journal. Don’t girls usually put locks and keys on these things? Or am I the only boy who actually is stupid enough to write down what he really thinks in a book that other people can find and read? I know they all see me writing in it. But I never would have thought that Louis would actually come in here and try to read it. But that means he cares, right? He cares about me and what I think. I think he was hoping he would read it and find out that I’m into him. If he didn’t want me to like him, he wouldn’t be friends with me like he is. Especially since he knew I liked him all along._

_I kissed him last night, just like I said I would. Maybe that’s why I’m not going to burn you. Maybe what I write in here comes true. I wrote I would kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and I did. So, now I’m going to write this: We’re going to love each other forever and ever and die so happy of old age. We’re going to go back to Ireland and get a great little flat and a sheep dog. Greg and Torey are going to come over for the holidays and we’ll cook and sit by the fire. There! Now make it so, journal! Just don’t let anyone catch you and read you again._

_What am I going to say to Harry? I’m kind of freaked out he’s going to do something bad. And it isn’t like I don’t feel sorry for him. I do. He’s probably the saddest person I know, but I have Louis now and I’m not going to cheat on him._

_It’s just, Harry was my first. And it’s not like he wasn’t good to me, he just isn’t Louis. I wish there was something I could do for him._

~*~

High as he was on the promise of requited love, it took Niall several class periods to notice the girls of the school were giving him some really funny looks. When he walked into the school, Lauren Phillips bit her lip at him and winked which made him turn around to see with whom she was flirting. There were only girls behind him and he momentarily questioned if she could be a lesbian.

During first hour, Niall gazed adoringly at Louis. Several times, Eleanor turned around and mouthed at him viciously ‘Stop it!’ but he ignored her and kept staring right through her at the puckish tuft of hair that would be the back of Louis’ head. Despite his devout concentration on that point, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bethany Fox poke Louisa Mendez in the shoulder and point at him. His attention went to the tall girl with long black hair as she immediately started a fury of scribbles in her notebook. When she turned back to her friend and seemed like they would be engaged for some time in conference, Niall lost interest and thought he might, for a moment, actually listen to what his teacher was talking about. His lack of vigilance was chastised when a triangle of paper nearly nailed him right in the eyeball. He jerked and flailed and almost gave up the game, but he stealthily stuffed the piece of paper in his pocket before Mrs. Jordan could look up and catch him red handed.

Things got weirder when he was minding his own business at his locker, switching his algebra books to his biology books and he felt a body calamitously crash into his. He turned, expecting to see Liam or Carey, and was shocked when he came face to face with adorable, blonde Holly Baker. She was an undersized little thing, which was no doubt why her friends thought it would be hysterical to send her hurtling into some unsuspecting boy’s back. Sure enough, Niall was ringed with a semi-circle of four giggling girls, who were staring at him, giddily awaiting his reaction.

“I’m so sorry, they pushed me – bitches!” Holly hissed at her friends, who looked less contrite and more likely to shove her into Niall again until they got the scene they wanted.

“It’s ok,” Niall said, because what the bloody hell else do you say?

The hooligans parading as innocent high school girls flapped their hands at their friend and one of them was even so bold as to hiss, “Ask him!”

“Ask me what?”

Holly smashed her lips together and shook her head, which made all the voyeurs start chirping, “Ask him! Holly! C’mon! Ask him!”

Niall was about to inquire again after what they all wanted to know, but Holly just blurted, “I really like it when you wear that button-down, it makes your eyes look really blue and I can’t wait to watch you play soccer!” Then she turned, breaking through her girlfriend’s protective barrier as if it were a game of Red Rover. Her soon-to-be-ex friends all followed her and they were halfway down the hall when Niall heard Holly snap at them, “I hate all of your bitch faces and I hope all your boyfriends dump you!”

Niall would’ve been inclined to laugh if he wasn’t so confused.

At lunch, he found Hannah and Zayn in their usual spot at the picnic table under the tree in the courtyard. He slammed down his sack lunch crossed his arms and gave them both a googly-eyed look of stupefaction.

“What the fuck is going on here?” he demanded, as if he suspected his friends of having something to do with it. The two of them shared a glance. Zayn looked back at him and wrinkled his face in a grimace of confusion. “What?”

“Why,” Niall asked, coming in close so he could whisper, “am I under attack from all the girls at the school?” When Zayn and Hannah shared another glance, Niall was agitated that he seemed to be the only one who wasn’t hip to what was going on. “What?” he snapped.

“Did you even read Louisa’s letter?” Hannah asked, gobs of peanut butter already stuck to the corners of her mouth.

“Letter?”

“The one she sent you in first period?”

“That was a letter?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know!?” Niall roared, fumbling in his pocket for the scrap he had quite forgotten about. “And how do you know what’s in it?”

“Niall, seriously?” Zayn asked, his face a perfect deadpan for Niall’s theatrics.

“Seriously what? Why are you two so cryptic?” Niall’s fingers fumbled as he struggled to unknot the tiny piece of paper without ruining it. Neither of his friends answered him, but they knew they wouldn’t need to when Niall saw what was inside.

In loopy, purple cursive were the words: “Who are you taking to homecoming? Text me: 303-477-0955.”

“Homecoming?” Niall asked the paper. When it didn’t reply, he lifted his head and addressed the same question to his friends. “Homecoming?”

“Yeah,” Zayn said with a ‘you’re an idiot’ scoff. “You’re, like, the only player on the team who hasn’t announced who your date is.”

“Announced?”

“Yeah,” it was Hannah’s turn. “You pretty much just tell Jess Ngo. She’s running the homecoming committee—“

“—And she has the biggest mouth in the whole school.”

“Yeah, so it isn’t really, like, an official thing, it’s just, sort of, a casual announcement.”

“Like changing your relationship status on Facebook.”

“It’s not as classy, though.”

God defend there was something less classy than social statuses on Facebook. There was a moment where they all sat staring at each other, all expecting someone else to speak first. Hannah was the first to catch on.

“So, who you gonna take?” she asked.

Niall blinked at both of their expectant faces. “I don’t… I don’t know.” The person he wanted to take was Louis and of course that wasn’t an option. “Who are you taking, Zayn?”

“Emily James!” Zayn crowed triumphantly. “I just gathered up my balls and asked her! She said yes!”

“Cool,” Niall smiled, genuinely happy for him. “She’s cool—“ But his praise was cut short by a pointedly unimpressed snort from Hannah.

“What?” Niall asked while Zayn groaned and rolled his eyes. “What, you don’t like her?”

“No, she’s fine,” Hannah shrugged, pretending to be particularly interested in finding the next choice bite off of her sandwich, “but everyone knows she’s got a thing for Luke Hoefler. The only reason she isn’t going with him is because Precious Glower asked him first and he said yes. It was a huge upset.”

“So what?” Zayn snapped back. “That doesn’t mean she doesn’t like me, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t mean anything that she’s going with me!”

“I never said it did,” Hannah said lightly, as if to insist this wasn’t that big a deal.

“You’re just being pissy because no one’s asked you.”

Niall looked at Hannah for confirmation and her face said it all. She tried to shrug again and again make the ‘not a big deal’ noise, but her full, chubby cheeks had sagged and her mouth became too heavy to lift.

“Well, you should come with me, then,” Niall said, only realizing now that it was the most obvious choice in the world.

Like a plant reintroduced to sunlight, Hannah’s entire organism lifted up and she said with eyes so big even her glasses couldn’t contain them, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Niall laughed at her cartoony transformation.

“What?” The merriment train was suddenly derailed by one bitter, nasty syllable. Both Niall and Hannah looked at Zayn in confusion.

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” Niall asked.

“You can’t—Niall, you can’t take Hannah.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Zayn looked between the two of them, grasping for words. “Because you’re just friends! People will get the wrong impression.”

“So?” Niall shrugged. No matter what girl he went with, people would be getting the wrong impression, anyway. Hannah went suspiciously still and silent.

“What do you mean, so? They’ll think she’s your girlfriend, Niall! You don’t want people thinking she’s your girlfriend, trust me!”

“Why are you being a shit?” Niall snapped back, suddenly extremely angry. “She’s right there, Zayn, why don’t you watch your fucking mouth! You’re getting really close to getting a proper smacking!”

Zayn’s expression showed a brief flash of being truly wounded, but he hid it with a dark glower and pushed away from the table, rising abruptly. “I’m just looking out for you! I’m just looking out for _her_ , alright? But you want to be a dick about it? Fine, fuck me!”

He stormed off and Niall would have felt bad about it except that he genuinely believed Zayn was in the wrong and he wanted to cut him off before he said something very hurtful. It was clear as day what Hannah felt for him. And speaking of that girl, she didn’t seem able to lift her eyes from her lap.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said to her. “Zayn can… Sometimes he forgets himself.”

Hannah shook her head and did a wiggle that was clearly supposed to mean, ‘It’s not a problem.’

“I don’t know why he would say shit like that. I mean, it’s not like… I mean _we_ know we’re just friends, and that’s all that matters, right? I mean, you don’t have a big ol’ monster crush on me, do you?”

Because he knew it wasn’t true, he felt comfortable making a joke about it. He chose wisely, because it cracked the ice a little bit with Hannah. She laughed softly and shook her head no, a shy, goofy grin on her face.

“Are you sure? Because I’m really handsome,” he reminded her. “And I have this adorable Irish accent. And need I remind you I’m on the soccer team? All the girls think I’m highly datable. Hannah.” He poked her, even as she was trying to stifle the giggle attack he was giving her. “Hannah,” he poked her again when she was laughing so hard she couldn’t look at him. When she finally managed to peek at him with one eye, Niall arched an eyebrow as Sean Connery-ish-ly as he could. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya,” he said in the cheesiest, most overtly terrible attempt at seduction a self-mocking Irishman had ever achieved.

Hannah burst out laughing and reached across the table to shove his shoulder and yip gleefully, “Stop it!”

Niall was pleased and he ducked his head. “So, what do you say? Want to be my date?”

Hannah’s face was rosy and she nodded so shyly, as if she was embarrassed to have him see it. Niall reached across the table and squeezed her wrist. “Good,” he said, “We’ll have a fun time. And Zayn can go kick rocks. He shouldn’t treat you like that, not if he’s your friend. I’ll talk to him.”

“Don’t,” she said softly, going back into her protective shutdown a little bit.

“Don’t? Why not?”

“He’s ok.”

“If you’re worried about him getting upset with you, I wouldn’t—“

“It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

She risked a glance at him through the thickness of her glasses and shrugged lopsidedly, “He kissed me.”

“What?” The impossibility of it made Niall’s brain sputter.

“He kissed me. We went on a hike last weekend and he kissed me and he’s been weird ever since.”

Honestly, with all the clandestine encounters he’d been having with the most impossible people, Niall had rather unintentionally come to believe that his was the seediest, secretest, most interesting life being lived at Jefferson Valley. Now he wondered if having illicit affairs wasn’t simply the new American past time.

“So, what, you’re a couple now?”

“No,” Hannah insisted, leaning forward. “Keep your voice down.”

Niall leaned in. “Then why is he taking Emily to the dance and not you?”

“I don’t think he feels that way about me,” Hannah said, wrinkling her nose and readjusting her glasses.

“Then why did he kiss you?” Niall spoke in his higher register, which he reserved for frustrating states of confusion.

“I don’t know!” Hannah squeaked back at him, clearly in no better humor. They stared at each other, confounded for several moments, both full of equal parts hope and discouragement.

“Well, then you definitely have to come with me,” Niall pointed out. “Show him how pretty you can be.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “I’m not Hermoine at the Yule Ball,” she laughed. “You really are romantic, Niall.”

“Who at the what?”

“Hermoine at the—“

The last two words were obscured under the sound of the bell. Niall couldn’t profess to be entirely disappointed to have missed them.

As they collected their things, Niall asked, “Do we have to coordinate our clothes? Like, match?”

“That would be silly,” Hannah informed him with great dignity. “All you have to do is look better than Zayn.”

That made Niall laugh, but as he said his farewell to her and began carving a path to his French class, he couldn’t help but hope that Zayn’s outburst was one of jealousy and perhaps his two best friends could join him and Louis in a jointly happy ending.

~*~

Hannah had told Jess at lunch and by sixth hour, it was clear the entire school had heard the news. The girls were no longer giving Niall flirty, come-hither eyes, but now they were sending him some pretty quirky ‘what is your problem?’ looks.

The worst of these faces came no doubt from Natalie Plympton herself. It was during gym, while they were running laps that Niall noticed that Natalie had intentionally kept pace with him so she was constantly in his field of vision. Every time he caught a glance of her, there she was, giving him a glare that was no doubt intended to curse him and his family for the next several generations. It irritated him the first few times it happened, but then he began to amuse himself by giving her looks of his own: Usually something of the cross-eyed, tongue up his nose, cheeks-flared variety. These faces seemed to only irritate Natalie further.

Niall was beginning to wonder if he was reaching that rebellious teen stage that he had always heard so much about, since he realized he was clearly enjoying all the negative attention he was receiving. He was relishing that people found him shocking, almost to the point where he wondered if he might be comfortable with letting everyone in on his sexuality.

When Liam slammed his face into the drinking fountain while he was trying to have a sip, however, he knew he was not.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Liam hissed while Niall jerked back, trying to get the water out of his nose and make sure it wasn’t broken. Max and Jared were with him, as always, and Jared had a hold of his backpack, keeping him locked amid the three of them.

“What?” Niall squawked, his hands on his face, wiping away the moisture to see if there was any blood.

“Hannah fucking Whorsen?” Liam sneered. “Are you trying to make us look like fucking faggots, faggot?”

Relieved to see his hands came back clean, Niall’s mind turned to how he couldn’t believe this was happening again. Since the team had come together and started relying on one another, the bullying had all but stopped. Sure, Liam had thrown him the stink eye several times and was always the first to call out Niall’s shortcomings, but it had seemed that the physical violence had been put to the rearview.

A distinct crowd had gathered around them now, as the Jefferson Valley High gen pop was always hankering for bloodshed. A few of the spectators offered some coaching, ranging from, “Niall, hit him!” to “Wipe the floor with him, Liam!”

As with all athletes, the roar of the crowd only seemed to spur his tormentors on.

“Why don’t you just take a dude?” Max chortled, coming to Niall’s right so he was completely surrounded by the three boys in the little alcove. “We all know you want to.”

“Yeah, take Zayn,” Jared piped up. “At least he’d look prettier in a dress than that—“

“Don’t you fucking--!” But before Niall could even finish his sentence, he launched himself at the bigger boy, taking hold of his collar and having no idea what to do with it once he had it. He wanted to throw him down to the tile of the school, but Liam had a hold of his backpack and jerked him backward. The crowd went wild and their cheering became an unintelligible thunder.

The hard tile floor he landed on choked the air right out of him and he looked up only to see Liam reaching for him again. As soon as his large hand fisted in Niall’s shirt, a large, rectangular object appeared above his head and came down with a satisfying ‘thwack’.

It took a moment for him to realize that it was a Chemistry book and that it was wielded by a slender, feminine figure with long, brown hair; in short, Eleanor. Liam immediately dropped his prey and backed up defensively, clutching his cranium.

“You’re on the same team!” she barked at the general collection of scrapping boys. “Grow up, Liam Payne!” she snapped, directly at the young man who was still defending his skull and who clearly had no idea how to behave once a girl entered the fray. In fact, it seemed like all the bullies were at a loss as to the protocol in such a situation.

This gave Eleanor room to rail. “Who cares who he’s taking to homecoming? It’s just a stupid dance! And Hannah Corsen is a nice person! You’re all jerks!”

“Whoa, Eleanor,” Liam tried a hand at calming her, reaching for her shoulder in a neighborly gesture. Eleanor rebuffed him, striking him away and reiterating even more loudly. “You’re all a bunch of idiotic, narrow-minded JERKS!”

There was a half an instant when Eleanor’s eyes fell on Niall’s and became so soft and full of sympathy that Niall was reminded of that horrible night when she brought him his bike and clothing. She was no doubt intending to help him to his feet when her boyfriend appeared at her shoulder, taking gentle hold of her to pull her away.

“Come on, El—“

“Don’t!” she snapped, shaking him off so hard her hair flung around into her face. “Don’t you even!”

The low, haunting ‘ooooo’ of a crowd of people about to watch lovers quarrel washed over them all, but Eleanor was unimpressed.

“Don’t you even, Louis Tomlinson! You’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

“El, please,” Louis said softly, the elfin features of his face appearing even more doll-like and vulnerably attractive. “Let’s not do this here, ok?” His eyes cut to the ring of bystanders and the gawping attraction they had become suddenly sliced through to Eleanor’s awareness.

She looked around and for a moment it seemed she would make an attempt to save face, but then she chose instead to dole out a bitter glance for each footballer present (Niall excepted) before making a pointed exit.

Louis was embarrassed. Niall heard him mutter something along the lines of, “I hate it when she does this.” When he lifted his head, he was smiling regretfully and offered, “Sorry, sorry…” to Niall, his attackers, and even to the gathered masses. “Here…” He came forward to help Niall of the floor, for which Niall was grateful, but that gratitude doubled when Louis turned to Liam and scolded, “Liam, you can’t do shit like this! We have to keep morale up.”

“Louis, he’s gonna make us look—“

“Be cool, Liam! Fuck!” And with that, Louis stormed off after his girlfriend without a backwards glance.

Niall and Liam engaged in a moment of mutual awkwardness, before Niall had the good sense to drop it and go to class.

~*~

Harry had been conspicuously absent, which had made Niall relax and feel that perhaps he could delay his spineless, half-formed break up speech indefinitely. However, it was as Niall was slipping out of school to go to soccer practice, his mind thundering loudly with the promise of showing Louis what progress he had made with the aid of a banana, that he saw Harry standing by the bike racks, waiting for him.

It was clear that Harry had seen him first, so there would be no slinking away. Niall stopped on the bottom step of the staircase, knowing he had to speak with Harry, knowing he owed him that much, but feeling utterly incapable of taking the first step toward him. He was still trapped in this indecision paralysis when Harry was on him. He took Niall’s shoulder and led him around the corner, out of the main thoroughfare and into a little courtyard. As Niall walked with him, his mind raced to find the words, but they all showered from his brain like grains of sand through open fingers.

“Come to my house tonight,” Harry said, when he finally got Niall properly corralled against a wall, embanking him in with his own body.

“I – I can’t, um…” There was more to follow, but he was sidetracked by the feeling of Harry’s large hand curling around his lower ribs and stroking down to his hip. He felt the pleasure button in his brain glow hot with the recollection of what he had felt under that hand and part of him wanted to run to Harry’s shack and beat that pleasure button over and over.

“Why not?”

“Um, practice…” he said weakly, his head ducked so the only thing in his line of vision was the Misfits logo on Harry’s shirt.

“Come after that,” Harry said relentlessly, nuzzling into Niall’s temple, trying to urge him to lift his head.

“I’ll be all gross and sweaty, it’ll be—“

“I like you gross and sweaty.”

Niall gave a forced, off-note laugh and took hold of Harry’s wrist, pushing him away so he could think. His fear- and lust-scrambled mind cleared long enough for a coherent thought to take shape. “I really can’t,” he said, taking a step back and a large breath of air. “Homecoming is just a few days away and we’ll be training really hard and I really need to eat well and sleep well and focus.”

It was so seamless, Niall couldn’t help but be impressed; hell, he would’ve been proud if it weren’t for that he knew in his belly it wasn’t the truth of why he couldn’t see Harry this evening. But he was now able to look at Harry’s face and was relieved to see that all that was going on there was that his eyebrows had lifted a little and that he was no doubt disappointed, but saw the sense in it.

“Well… Can I see you tomorrow?”

He reached out and touched the swell of Niall’s bottom lip with his thumb, stroking his chin a little in the process. Niall had never had anyone touch him like that before and although it was a casual gesture, the intimacy of it left him a little breathless, which might have been why he stuttered, “Um. Yeah.”

Harry smiled then and his dimples, whose magnificence Niall’s memory hadn’t properly captured, were on display again. Harry smiling was so new, it startled Niall to see it and made him smile back.

“Good.” Then Harry looked around to ensure they were alone in the courtyard before he cradled Niall’s jaw in his hand and pulled him in for a sweet, toe-curling kiss. Oh, how Harry could kiss. It was almost enough to make a boy forget that he really shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.

“I—“ Niall gasped, pulling away. “We shouldn’t do that, here.”

Harry was reluctant to let go of him, even when Niall ducked his lips out of kissing radius. “It doesn’t matter if anyone sees, really,” Harry insisted softly. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

The fact that Niall wasn’t public with his sexuality and people were already hurting him made him wince. Part of him wanted to tell Harry about Liam’s treatment of him, but there was no way that wouldn’t end in Harry getting expelled, Liam being incapacitated, and the whole school knowing about their relationship.

“I should go.”

“But you’ll come tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I swear,” Niall said, answering both the question asked and the question he knew would otherwise follow immediately after.

He stepped around Harry, chiding himself for his cowardice. From behind him, he heard Harry call after him happily, “Have a good practice!” and his heart hurt for what he knew was to come.

~*~

There was a relentlessness that had infected the entire soccer team, as well as their coach, that had them all exhausted by the time they had reached their first break. The fall air snapped briskly against their sweat-dampened skin and Niall couldn’t tell if he was uncomfortably hot or uncomfortably chilled.

Either way, he couldn’t help but be pleased with his performance. For the past week, he had proved to not be as detrimental to the team as many had expected he would have been. His speed and agility had both increased noticeably and he had now made several assists two games in a row. While he wouldn’t be winning an MVP any time soon (that honor was reserved for Liam), he certainly felt that he hadn’t given anyone a reason to complain.

His muscles were straining from overexertion as he went back to the bench to have a hit off his water bottle. Then someone jumped on his back and, the state he was in, he almost sent both of them tumbling into the mud.

“Louis!” he laughed, knowing who it was the instant those bony knees dug into his hips. A shower of giggles fell over him then, and Louis jumped off before Niall sent them both sprawling.

“You’re doing great today, Niall!” Louis laughed boyishly. “We’re gonna wipe the floor with those assholes next week.”

“Yeah,” Niall laughed with him, but didn’t have the same optimism. Their defense was amazing, but their offensive players could use some work; that was, of course, Niall’s department, but he was considerably heartened by Louis’ show of support.

“So, I hear you’re taking Hannah to homecoming,” Louis said as he draped a towel around his neck to tidy up the sweat. Niall nodded, but his mouth was full of water and he couldn’t answer.

“It’s a joke, right?”

“What do you mean, a joke?” he asked upon swallowing.

“Like… You’re gonna, I don’t know, tell everyone you’re going with Hannah, but actually go with someone hot, right?”

Niall stared at him, agog.

“Aw, man,” Louis said, reading that look. “Aw, man, you’re doing that heart-of-gold thing, aren’t you?”

“That what?” Niall laughed to hide how truly interested he was in what Louis meant.

“Where you do that thing where you stand up to the rest of us for being shallow, manipulative assholes.”

“I’m not—I didn’t do it to stand up to you. She’s just my friend and she didn’t have a date.”

“Two things: we have to get you better friends and there’s a reason she didn’t have a date.”

“Five til you’re back out there, boys, don’t get comfy!” Bartly barked over the dull murmur of athletes mingling over water bottles. It interrupted Niall’s train of thought which was, indeed, to call Louis out on being a shallow, manipulative asshole, but that and all his ire were blown out of his head when Louis leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Under the bleachers, after practice?”

“What?”

Niall felt the heat coming off Louis’ body when he nearly pressed them chest-to-chest. “Meet me under the bleachers after practice, stupid,” he laughed a little breathlessly.

“Oh…” Niall liked being so close to Louis; he liked it so much, his hand shot out of its own accord and found the perfect lock on Louis’ hip, but he caught himself and moved it away before any of the other boys could see. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Learned any banana tricks?”

“A few,” Niall replied, blushing.

“Can’t wait to see ‘em!” Louis chirped, grabbing Niall’s head and planting a huge smacker right on his cheek. All the other boys were charging out to the field, but Niall lingered, letting the cool night air scrub out the sudden pink that tinged his entire face.

“Horan, move it!”

And so he did, with hope in his heart.

~*~

Successfully enduring the rest of the practice without popping a boner became Niall’s primary focus for the subsequent hour and a half. It became increasingly difficult, because Louis and he generally guarded each other and because the slightest flutter of Louis’ shorts around his thighs, the brush of hot, sweaty, athletic body against hot, sweaty, athletic body, or even a glimpse of that spot under the bleachers where Niall knew he would be engulfed in such pleasures later, all went straight to his groin.

When practice mercifully ended and the coach blew the whistle, Niall was vocal in his relief. Luckily, everyone else on the team was as well, so he didn’t draw any special attention to himself. He was the first to the showers, although he was mindful to not wash his hair or get it too wet since he knew standing in fall weather under the bleachers with wet hair might make a premature end to his night.

Niall didn’t mind getting to the rendezvous point first. He had packed an extra towel and found a nice, even patch of earth to smooth it out over. It wasn’t terribly romantic, but Niall didn’t want to overdo it. He had briefly considered candles before he realized he was being a twat.

There was only the briefest of gravel-crunches for Niall to be alerted he was being hunted, but before he could react, he felt that familiar weight land on his back, nearly knocking him over, and heard that tell-tale cackle of a laughing Louis Tomlinson.

Niall was laughing, too, but the laughter was certainly interfering with his ability to keep the both of them upright. When he landed, it was nowhere near the towel he had so conscientiously laid out and their newly-donned clean clothes were now as dirty as the soccer kit they’d just taken off.

They scuffled briefly, Louis clearly intent on getting Niall’s shirt over his head hockey-style, while Niall kept him pinned to the ground to limit his mobility. It was when Niall landed some walloping smacks on Louis’ exposed midriff that the other boy gave a squeaky yelp and blurted, “Truce! Truce! Truce, ok? OW! Truce!”

“Truce?” Niall chortled. “I win! That’s not a truce!” To confirm his point, he brought another slap down on Louis’ already quite pink tummy.

“Fine!” Louis burst out in a peal of giggles. “You win! You win, get off!”

Niall sat back, his hair sticking out at all points and his face flushed and merry. “Teach you to sneak up on me.”

“Teach you to drop your guard.”

Fair enough.

Niall felt shy and busied himself with getting his shirt back on properly and his hair somewhat presentable. Louis, of course, used the opportunity to sneak up on him yet again and when Niall lifted his head, Louis’ face was an inch from his own. This attack, however, Niall found far more agreeable. Louis’ fists were in Niall’s shirt and he pressed an eager, closed-lipped kiss into Niall’s mouth. When he pulled back, Niall could clearly see that Louis’ was seeking to determine how his kiss had been received, so Niall smiled, put his hands on Louis’ wonderfully narrow hips and leaned in to kiss him again.

It was clear Louis wasn’t ready for Harry-like kisses. He was fonder of either shallow pecks, or on the opposite end, of highly invasive tongue-tackling techniques. These kisses didn’t blow Niall’s skirt up the way Harry’s did, but because it was Louis administering them, they exceeded in their perfection.

“Come over here,” Niall said after several volleys of smooches, scooting back on his butt over to the towel he’d laid out.

“I ever tell you how much I like that uniform you wore to try-outs?” Louis asked as he crawled after him.

“What?”

That was a mistake Niall had only made once. As much as he loved that kit, he kept it folded neatly in his closet, never to embarrass him again. The uniforms they had now bore their school colors and had a puma head on the front. The sports program at Jefferson Valley High was wealthy enough to provide the boys with both practice, home and away jerseys, so Niall hadn’t considered his personal gear in some time.

“Yeah, I thought it was really ballsy to come to tryouts like that. I mean, you clearly had a sense of humor.”

That made Niall laugh. “Yeah. I suppose not knowing how bad I am is kind of funny.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Louis replied, curling up next to him and tugging on his hoodie to pull him closer. “It doesn’t matter that you aren’t the best on the team, y’know? That’s not always how we pick ‘em.”

Niall’s instincts came alive, realizing that Louis was discussing something here that was still veiled and still confounded him. He shook off the fog of lust and said, “So… Wait. We? ‘We’ as in… Coach Bartly and…”

“Me. I’m team captain, I get to say who gets on the team or not.” Quite uncharacteristically, Louis kept his eyes lowered to where they were playing with the draw string on Niall’s hoodie. Niall spent a good deal of time trying to compose the perfect sentence that would ask precisely what he wanted to know without revealing how much it mattered to him. However, he took too long and Louis interrupted his train of thought by simply supplying the answer before the question was even asked: “You were my pick,” he said. “I pushed to get you on the team instead of Carey.”

Niall felt like the hairs on his arm were dancing, he was struck with such a bolt of happiness. “You mean it wasn’t Coach Bartly’s choice, like you said?”

“Well, I mean, he liked you. We both, it’s just – I mean, I like Carey, I do. But he – and his family, I mean, they’re like. Y’know. Nazis.”

“What?”

“Not literally!” Louis laughed, seeing the expression on his friend’s face. “I mean, I don’t know. It’s like, you go over to their house and it’s: you have to take your shoes off, don’t touch anything, you can only go in these rooms, you can’t speak any louder than, like, a whisper, there’s no TV after 8 pm. They even make Liam and Carey go to school over the summer.” He frowned, staring off under the bleachers as if the darkness could offer some clarity.

“But… Why would that mean Carey couldn’t be on the team?”

“Oh. Because he’s an asshole.” Louis let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I mean, I spend a lot of time with Liam and I know Carey. Liam’s like – Liam I think is actually a really good guy who’s just kind of warped by his parents. Carey… I dunno, Carey’s kind of a sicko. I didn’t want him on the team.”

“And I was next best?”

Louis looked over at him. “No. I just thought you were cool.”

For some reason, the slight of being considered ‘not next best’ had entirely lost its sting in light of Louis wanting him on the team because he was cool. Cool. Niall Horan, cool.

“You thought I was cool?”

“Well!” Niall could hear the blush in his voice, “I mean, like – yeah! I thought you had a cute little accent and all the girls were crazy about you and you make our team look good and I thought, fuck! That guy should be on our team! He sucks now, but we can whip him into shape!”

Niall was beaming at him so brightly, Louis nearly couldn’t withstand the glare. “And you wanted to maybe kiss me a little bit,” Niall goaded.

“What?” Louis gave a self-conscious, fake laugh.

“You wanted to kiss me a little bit.” Niall didn’t relent and Louis snorted and shook his head, yielding. “Alright,” he said, rolling his eyes, “Maybe I was a little curious. Jesus. You were kind of cute in that super shiny uniform. Where did you even get it?”

“Don’t change the subject. Let’s just stick to how cute I looked in it.”

“And then you have that stupid accent.”

“It’s not stupid!”

Louis gave a wheezy laugh. “C’mon, it’s a little goofy.”

“Your accent’s the goofy one.”

“And then the way you were so clearly into me – more cute.”

Niall didn’t have a comeback for that. He’d lost his footing entirely. The silence was obvious and stark between them. Then Louis leaned in and said, “The way you blush is kinda cute, too.”

Niall’s eyelids fluttered over his eyes as if trying to clear all the tiny little heart bubbles out of his field of vision. “If you’re buttering me up so I’ll suck your cock, I’ll have you know I was intending to do that, anyway.”

The other boys’ eyes went wide and Niall prided himself that he could say something that shocked Louis Tomlinson. “Shit, you’re easy! Way easier than a girl!”

All that pride swiftly found itself in need of defense. “Well, I don’t want all my practicing to go to waste!”

Louis wasn’t all that interested with his excuses and was focused primarily on getting his cock out. Niall felt his mouth start to water and just barely felt the disappointment of this encounter not turning out to be the romantic, deep-kissing, full-body nudity he had been hoping for. After all, if he performed well now, Louis would come to trust him and the time for fairytale, hot, sweaty, general thrusting sexiness would soon be his.

“Lie back,” Niall insisted when Louis’ dick was exposed and saluting. Dutifully, Louis reclined on his elbows while Niall made himself comfortable on his tummy. It felt wonderful, having Louis bracket him with his thighs and he wormed an arm under Louis’ hips to both hold him and steady himself.

He took a deep breath and when he began to duck forward, Louis jerked suddenly, a hand on his shoulder. “You did – I mean, you really did practice, right?”

“Yes!” Niall insisted, but saw the apprehension on Louis face. “Louis, I’m not going to bite you again. I promise, no bananas were harmed in my practicing of blowjobs.”

The joke made Louis relax and Niall made a mental note that humor seemed to be the key with Louis Tomlinson. He felt warm in his belly at the thought of the two of them laughing their way through couple fights.

For real this time, Niall folded his hand around that impossibly hot flesh and stroked him gently, getting him even harder. Unlike Harry’s symmetrical shaft and bulbous head, Louis’ cock seemed to bulge in the middle while the tip was more delicate and refined. Niall gave it a kiss for his cuteness. He heard Louis twitter something above him, but he tuned out the external world to focus solitarily on folding his lips over his teeth and relaxing his jaw, just as the woman on the YouTube video had instructed him to do.

Much like what happened with the bananas, Niall’s jaw began to get sore within a few seconds of having Louis in his mouth, but unlike his experience with the bananas, he was hearing the sexiest noise in the world of his lover gasping and moaning with pleasure and that gave him all the fortitude he needed to push through it.

He felt that adorable tip hit the back of his throat several times, which made him *gck*, but he willed himself to relax and let his throat open naturally. Only, just as with the bananas, his throat wasn’t opening naturally and he found himself coming to terms with the possibility that perhaps deep-throating just wasn’t going to be his thing. This wasn’t as much of a disappointment as one might think, because Niall had something else he wanted to try.

He pulled off of Louis’ cock, a slick thread of saliva still connecting lips to tip before Niall brushed it away and pushed a finger into his mouth. Louis lifted himself up, watching Niall suck, fascinated. “What are you doing?”

Niall pulled his finger out with a wet pop and gazed up at his team captain adoringly. “Can I finger you?”

“What?”

“You know, like—“ Niall wiggled his moistened finger at him, curling it like he had felt Harry do against that spot that felt like a newly discovered orgasm-factory inside him.

“But like, what? In—In my butt?”

“Well… Yeah.”

Louis gave a laugh comprised of pure discomfort. “No! No, man, I’m not—I’m not like that.”

“Not like--?”

“Niall, suck!” Then there was a hand in his hair, pushing adamantly for him to return to his previous business of cock-sucking. He did as he was coerced, but with no small amount of regret.

He had truly mastered breathing through his nose and even managed to avoid the pitfalls of potentially nicking that sensitive flesh on the sharp peaks of his back teeth. His hard work was rewarded by Louis making noises even sexier than anything Niall had imagined. There were high pitched gasps and moans that came from some place in him so deep, Niall could feel the vibrations. His hips were rocking up into Niall’s mouth now, which threw him off his rhythm slightly, but by curling his hand around the base of Louis’ cock, he gained control again.

In his own pants, Niall’s cock was engorged to the point where it might actually burst through his trousers and all he could think about that was that it would probably be the coolest, manliest thing that had ever happened.

“Oh, fuck, Niall, yes, you practiced good… You learn now to swallow come?”

Niall couldn’t answer in his current situation, but if he could have, the answer would have been, of course not, bananas don’t do that sort of thing. However, he was very eager to see if he had any natural affinity for it.

“Fuck,” Louis gasped, “It’s coming… It’s gonna… Get ready!”

By now, Niall’s jaw felt like it was going to fall off, his cheeks would never be the same, even his neck and shoulders were aching from the strain, but Niall didn’t back off; in fact, he doubled down, pumping his fist, determined to give Louis an orgasm that would prove the new gold standard.

While his orgasm was clearly an explosion of pleasure for Louis, Niall wasn’t entirely certain how to handle his mouth being suddenly flooded with spurt after spurt of salty cream. Some he swallowed instinctively, so as not to drown; some dribbled from his lips and onto Louis’ cock and some, after a brief moment’s panic in which he half-gurgled and half-snorted, almost came out of his nose. That was when he abruptly pulled off Louis’ cock and tried to get his plumbing clear and back in working order.

After he’d wiped his mouth clean, dabbed at his watering eyes and spat and snorted out what he couldn’t deal with, he dared a glance at Louis. The boy had turned onto his side, his head propped up on his hand, his beautiful, exhausted cock still hanging out of his pants and a delighted smile on his face. When he saw that Niall had reemerged, he burst out into tittering laughter and cawed, “I was about to give you full marks, but you didn’t exactly stick the landing!”

Niall had to laugh; he could only imagine what a sight he’d made. “Sorry,” he scoffed self-consciously.

“Don’t be!” Louis reached for him and Niall gladly crawled atop his chest as Louis laid flat back against the earth. “We can give you lots and lots of practice on a real cock.”

“My bananas will get lonely.”

“Stick ‘em between two cantaloupes, they’ll get over it.”

They snickered together, their breaths puffing out in steamy clouds in the crisp, fall air. Niall gazed down into Louis’ face, feeling like nothing in the world could ever harm him and Louis beamed back, amused and undisturbed as always. When Niall leaned down to press a much-yearned-for kiss into the other boy’s lips, however, Louis said abruptly, “Freezing,” and sat up to tuck himself back in his pants.

Niall chewed his lip and didn’t know what the proper etiquette was in mentioning that he had a stiff, throbbing cock that was an established menace to trouser inseams everywhere. At a loss for words, Niall leaned in and kissed Louis’ shoulder, which did seem to catch his attention.

“You alright?” Louis asked, nodding in the general vicinity of Niall’s nethers.

To answer the question in a way that left no room for misinterpretation, Niall took Louis’ hand and put it directly over the bulge that was thrumming hungrily in his denim. Louis jerked a little, but he stuttered out, “Um. Ok. So, you want me to, like…”

His resistance was palpable and the last thing Niall wanted was to scare him away.

“No, I mean, it’s not—“ he started.

“No, I mean, I’m not like—“ Louis interjected.

“Well, I don’t want you to feel, y’know—“

“No, I mean, it’s alright, I just—“

“I don’t want to be, like, needy or anyth—“ There was a gentle but effective squeeze from Louis’ hand that made Niall’s sentence trail off in a pathetic little wheeze. He heard Louis’ voice, somewhere back on the shores of the Seas of Lust calling, “I mean, you just swallowed my cock, the least I can do is give you a handie.”

Niall’s jaw dropped to make a reply, but the sound of his zipper going down filled the silence instead. When he felt Louis’ warm, dry hand fold around him, he finally found the courage to look at the face of the boy he had been thinking about every time his own hand was on his cock. It was very bizarre to see his fantasy looking back at him, the knowing grin he’d always imagined firmly in place.

When Louis started to stroke, Niall reached out and grabbed his shoulder, partly to brace himself, partly to not lose himself too soon. The handjob was adequate, but that it was Louis Tomlinson giving it to him was exquisite.

He heard a soft sound in his ear and he knew Louis was laughing. “Haven’t gotten any in awhile?”

The question made Niall’s mind do a quick retrieval of the last time he’d ‘gotten any’ and suddenly he could smell Harry’s small shack, see the moonlight as it came through Harry’s windows, taste Harry’s mouth on his, hear the way Harry’s pants were in rhythm with the slapping of their flesh and, my god, the feelings—

“GCK!” Niall choked, smashing his face into Louis’ neck as he struggled to choke down his orgasm. Louis misinterpreted Niall’s lack of response and teased, “Should I slow down, then?”

“Louis—“ Niall panted and the other boy’s mouth swallowed the rest of what he would say.

Louis’ lips weren’t like Harry’s. They were chapped from all the panting of harsh, fall air during the practice and far thinner and harder. Louis was a tongue man, whereas Harry was definitely a lip man. All the same, Niall was more than willing to drop his jaw and let Louis pillage his mouth. He moaned and felt himself start to sweat despite the cold.

“Hey,” Louis said against his teeth, the cold tip of his nose still nuzzling against Niall’s cheek.

“Mmm?” Niall panted, his arm stroking up and down Louis’ pumping bicep, willing him to go a little faster. Louis obliged.

“Was wondering if you’d do something for me.”

“Mmm?”

“You know homecoming?”

“Mmm,” Niall hummed, unable to find any other letters of the English alphabet.

“Don’t take Hannah. You don’t have to take Natalie, if you don’t like her, but don’t take Hannah.”

“Wh-what?”

Louis, deft and crafty, licked the length of his palm so when his hand returned to Niall’s dick, the slide was slick and hot and all Niall could see were the sparkling blue eyes of the boy of his dreams.

“Take someone else; someone hot,” Louis insisted, pressing feverish kisses into Niall’s mouth. “Say you will.”

“Eghn!” Niall squeaked, when Louis swept his thumb over the head of Niall’s dick.

“Say you will,” Louis whispered, kissing down his throat and nibbling his ear in a way that made Niall’s spine tremble.

“L-Lou—“

“Say you will and maybe the next time we do this, I’ll let you touch my asshole.”

Niall had Louis shirt bunched in his fists and he clutched the other boy against him as if he might try to make a break for it. The very thought of being able to—to—do _that_ made Niall groan helplessly into his ear, his hips jerking wantonly.

“Say you will,” Louis prompted one more time before Niall blurted in stupefaction, “Yes! Fuck! Yes! Louis!”

He could feel Louis’ grin against his jaw, but he paid it little mind as Louis started wringing his cock as if it was a race to the finish. Niall forgot how to breathe and it was a wonder he didn’t suffocate for the next minute it took him to come.

When he did, he was pretty sure he saw the entirety of the cosmos from God’s point of view. It was spectacular and he wondered momentarily if he could see his house from up here.

It was the feeling of someone gently prying his fingers open that brought him back to earth. Apparently, his hand had locked up and Louis was trying to get free. He took Niall’s wrists and shook them gently.

“C’mon, buddy,” he said, plucking Niall from his shirt and Niall felt everything in his body go weak.

“Sorry,” Niall returned, truly not sorry. He glanced down at his shirt and saw a spot of come on his hip, but there was nowhere near enough for what Niall knew he’d released.

“Yeah, it’s on my shirt,” Louis said, his mouth twisted in displeasure. sure enough, a long, white streak was dribbling its way down the front of the Vampire Weekend t-shirt he was wearing. He took the corner of the towel and tried to rub it off, managing to make it less prominent.

“Sorry,” Niall said again, wondering if he was the only boy in the world to apologize so much during sex or if that was just a thing.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Louis said, his face still looking like it was a problem. “I mean, my mom will never guess what it is; she thought I was serious when I took my vows of chastity, so whatever.”

“Vows of chastity?”

“It’s a Christian camp thing, don’t worry about it.”

Niall wasn’t worried about it, per se; curious, absolutely. His thoughts were derailed, however, when Louis stood up suddenly and started gathering his things. The intimacy of the moment briskly broken, Niall hurriedly tucked himself back in and zipped up.

“You park in the main lot?” Louis asked, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders.

“Uh, no. No, I rode my bike,” Niall replied, speedily rolling up his towel to catch up with Louis, who was already making his way out from between the bleachers.

“Oh, right, duh. Of course. I parked right out front,” Louis said, as Niall stuffed the towel in his bag, slung the bag on his back, and sprinted to catch up to him. “They let me park in the handicap spot, it’s pretty sweet. Coach said I could just keep parking there even after I got my cast off – like, it was a gift for winning regionals last year or something.”

Niall just nodded, not entirely following, but pleased nonetheless when Louis draped an arm over his shoulder. “Who knows what he’ll give us me this year,” Louis smiled merrily. “I mean, I’m thinking of applying to some Ivy League schools and I know he would give me a great recommendation. I mean, if Payne can do it, why can’t I?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Niall simpered, in reality concentrating more on the smell of Louis’ detergent than he was on what he was saying.

“What are you going to do for college?” Louis asked, bringing them up alongside the black Audi that Niall had to assume was a hand-me-down from his dad. It was, indeed, parked in a handicapped spot.

“Um,” Niall wracked his brain, “I don’t know, yet. I don’t know what I want to do. I think… I think I want to get back to Ireland. Or, maybe an Ivy League school.” An Ivy League school had never sounded appealing to him until Louis Tomlinson revealed that Ivy League schools were where he wanted to be.

“Cool,” Louis said simply. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.” The Audi chirped delicately and flashed its lights when Louis pressed the unlock button on his key fob.

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely,” Niall replied, desperately scrambling to find the right moment to lean in for a goodbye kiss. The window was closing rapidly and Niall knew he had to move fast or he would miss out. “Thanks for… for hanging out with me tonight.”

Louis snorted at him, but must have seen that gormless, needy puppy expression in his eyes, because he said, “Yeah, sure.” He swung the car door open and put one foot inside. Niall hung uselessly next to the car, shifting and uncertain.

“Have a good night,” he said stupidly.

“You, too!” Louis replied, then caught himself just before he disappeared into the black machine. “Oh!” he said. “Be sure to ask Holly Baker or someone before lunch tomorrow, ok?”

“What?”

“Or Christina Valdez, someone like that.”

“Louis—“

“But I think you’d look cuter with Holly.”

“I don’t—“

“Night, Niall.” Then Louis leaned forward and kissed Niall’s cheek. Niall was too slow to react and a second after Louis’ face left his, Niall kissed at the air. It was in this state of mortification he heard the door of Louis’ car slam shut, the engine rev, and the tires squeal against the pavement as Louis peeled out like a complete showoff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Well, no, not the big game. Because I can't simplify anything, now, can I? Oh, no, I have to write out every little blithering detail in the extreme, don't I? I'm never going to finish this, am I? I'm just going to be writing until I'm a withered old husk!! SEND HELP!
> 
> Where was I?
> 
> Oh, yes. Next chapter Niall looks Harry in the eye and says...


	20. Stormy Weather

The previous days’ exertion had caused such an exhaustion in Niall that he slept through his alarm and only woke when his mother poked her head in, gave him a shake and asked him why he wasn’t in the shower, yet. This resulted in his having a semi-satisfactory shower, packing a sub-satisfactory lunch, and only getting to school a matter of seconds before the bell rang.

It was as he was charging toward his locker that he nearly plowed directly over a small figure that seemed to have planted itself directly and intentionally in his path.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Niall said, but the little figure, which turned out to be Holly Baker, only shifted in front of him again as he tried to maneuver around her.

“Hey, Niall,” she said, apparently unconcerned about their inevitable tardiness.

“Hey,” Niall said, with a hint of ‘out of my way, please’.

“Louis said you had something you wanted to ask me.”

“What?”

The bell rang and the only two people in the entire hall that weren’t moving like their asses were on fire were Niall and Holly. They stood there in isolated silence for a few seconds before Holly, starting to look slightly uncomfortable, girlishly pushed her honey hair behind both of her ears and restated, “Louis said you had something you wanted to ask me.”

The promise Niall had made last night came back to him. Usually, when he knew he needed to weasel out of promises like this, he preferred a good four hours to think on it, at least three different friends with whom to confer, a night to sleep on it, and a thorough morning review before he put a plan into action. He was not prepared to weasel improvisationally and it showed in his weak performance.

“Oh, yeah, um. I was – do you have someone to—Are you going to homecoming with anyone? The dance, I mean?”

He prayed God she did.

“No,” she said, looking all the more hopeful for it.

“Oh. Well, Louis thought… He… Do you… want to go with me?”

The heaviness Niall felt in his guts was counterbalanced by Holly’s sudden buoyancy. “Yes!” she said, the smile on her face so genuinely filled with delight that Niall felt some relief in that he had made at least one person very, very happy. “Oh, my god, I can’t believe it,” she laughed to herself. “This is so cool, Niall, I’m so excited, I was going to ask you, but I thought—“

“Yeah…”

“—well, he totally has someone he’s going to ask, but then I heard you were going with Hannah and I was like—“

“Yeah…”

“—I know they’re friends, but there’s no, no way he’s actually into her, I mean, she’s only ever been nice to me, but still, I was like—“

“Yeah…”

“— I mean, I wasn’t crying or anything over it, but I was really sad because I’ve been into you for a while. I can say that, right? Now that we’re going to homecoming together?”

“Yeah,” Niall said, finding it in him to make a smile.

“So cool! Anyway, I’m going to go tell Jess; we have first class together, anyway. So cool!” Then she made an excited little noise like a startled squirrel, gave a likewise feral little hop and chirped, “Bye!” before disappearing down the hall in a skirt-flouncing skip.

Standing in the hall, Niall did not feel the same pressure he had before to get to class. The idea now struck him as somewhat repugnant. He turned and left the school, going to sit outside in the small alcove outside of the art room where he had met with Harry yesterday, and tried to calm himself with self-deluding promises that he wasn’t a terrible person.

~*~

Niall concluded the only responsible thing to do was to make sure Hannah found out about the change of plans only through him and not through the Jefferson Valley gossip chain. To ensure this, he used the very tactic employed on him by Holly Baker just that morning: he stood in front of Hannah’s locker resolutely as the first hour bell rang.

People gave him looks, but without half the intrigue of the looks of the day before. Dean Ross congratulated him with a high five and said, “Good one!” and Niall suddenly had a crawling suspicion that not all was going according to plan.

When Hannah appeared, Niall knew that he had well missed his window. She looked like she had been crying, if the puffiness of her lips and rosiness of her nose were anything to go by. She was clearly startled to find him in front of her locker and she self-consciously pushed her glasses up higher on her face and stammered, “Oh, hi, Niall,” trying with all her might to pretend everything was normal, as was her way.

“Hey, Hannah,” he said softly, stepping aside when she ducked her head and made to push past him to get her things. After she managed to wrench the rusty locker open, Niall leaned against the door and tried to create a bubble of privacy.

“So,” he said carefully, “I guess you heard.”

“Yeah,” Hannah shrugged.

“Oh. I… I was hoping to be the first person to talk to you about it.”

Niall felt naïve for thinking he had any hope of stopping the high school rumor mill in its tracks. There was no cellphone penalty too great that would trump the ingenuity and determination of teenage girls with a good bit of gossip. Truly, it was a gross oversight to not employ teenage girls in every position of the FBI.

“It’s no biggie,” Hannah replied, keeping her head buried in her locker while she pretended to be looking for things in her backpack.

“Yes, it is,” Niall insisted, nearly sticking his head in the locker with her. “I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you or that I was being mean. I just –“

“It’s alright. Holly Baker’s really cool. She gave me a ride home once when I missed the bus.”

That she was trying so hard to make this easy on him was actually making it harder. What he really wanted, deep down, was for her to throw a tantrum at him, to cry, to let him see how much this hurt so he had no excuse to not do the right thing. Instead, what came out of his mouth was, “So, we’re cool?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, her thick, glossy brown hair bobbing in her ponytail. She sniffed slightly and rubbed her nose on her sleeve.

“Someone will ask you,” Niall said, knowing he was digging himself in deeper, but unable to stop talking, as if by just babbling, he would eventually stumble on the right thing to say. “I mean, there’s still three days left, someone’s just probably trying to work up the courage to ask you.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, the same tone in which she’d said it before. There was no way she could believably pantomime her searching any longer, so she slung her backpack onto her back and reemerged from her locker. Niall was there with an overlarge smile.

“Hell, maybe even Zayn will come to his senses!”

Hannah didn’t even dignify that with a response. “I have to get to Physics.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, I didn’t mean to keep you. Um. Let’s hang out this weekend. You free? We could go on a hike or… you know, whatever you want.”

Keeping her eyes veiled, Hannah nodded with a weak attempt at a sporting grin, then turned on her heel and left without a word.

Guilt cloyed at Niall from that moment on, and didn’t relinquish its hold at a single point throughout the day. For the first time in his life, he was completely out of control and baffled as to how acquiring that which he desired most was making him even less certain of who he was and what he actually wanted.

Things were awkward with Zayn in History. It wasn’t terribly strange after what had happened between them at lunch, but Niall was in need of a friend, someone he could really talk to and whose advice he trusted. However, his friend wouldn’t meet his eye and had the stoniest stonewall Niall may have ever seen this side of the Atlantic. He resorted to the dangerous tactic of pulling out his phone and texting under the desk.

‘please see me after sixth period,’ he wrote.

Zayn, being the diligent student he was, had turned off his phone and Niall knew the only way he would know if Zayn received his text was whether he appeared in the library or not.

Not only was he there, but when Niall arrived in the library, it looked as though Zayn had been waiting for him.

“Hey,” he said, feeling relief simply in that Zayn cared about and supported him enough even to be here.

“Hey,” Zayn replied, looking up from where he’d been typing on his phone. “Hey, come over here a second?” He nodded toward the tangle of bookshelves they frequented whenever they needed to lose themselves from public view.

“What for?”

“Just so we can talk.”

Zayn walked over into the shelves without giving him room for objections. The library wasn’t very populated, since the time allotted for students to get from one class to the next was so short. All the same, Niall couldn’t pretend to mind the privacy; what he needed to hash out with Zayn certainly wasn’t for public consumption.

They got to their nook and it was just when Niall noticed that for once Zayn wasn’t wearing those ludicrous glasses of his that the other boy swung out and smacked him in the face. It was an open-handed slap and there was so little force behind it, Niall immediately understood that it was more of a statement than an actual attempt to harm him. All the same it startled him into stillness.

“That was for Hannah,” Zayn hissed and for the first time, Niall saw something violent in those otherwise congenial, playboy good looks. “I’m pissed off at you. Niall, I am really fucking pissed off at you. You have the arrogance to tell me off yesterday in front of the entire goddamn school and then you do something like this? And don’t even try to make some lame excuse as to why you did it, we all know exactly why you did it! I told you from the very first time that we hung out that we wouldn’t be friends for long, and do you remember what you said? Do you?”

Niall was still too stunned to make a noise, much less recall a conversation from three months ago.

“You said we’d still be friends! But it’s happening, Niall. If you pull shit like this, it is absolutely happening: You’re becoming a mean goddamn jock!”

“That’s not fair,” was the best Niall could muster.

“How is it not fair? Tell me! Tell me how I’ve misunderstood this!”

“It’s just one stupid dance, Zayn! It’s not the end of the world!”

“It meant a lot to Hannah! It meant a lot to Hannah when you asked her out!”

“Then why did you start talking shit about her the second I did, if it was so important?”

“Don’t turn this on me!”

“No, I’m not taking a scolding from you when you’re just as bad!”

“It’s not the same!”

“How is it not the same?”

“I never pretended to be better than everybody else!”

“ _I_ never pretended to be better than everybody else!”

“Yes, you fucking do! All the time! But the first time you got tested, you just crumbled like everybody else because of Louis-fucking-Tomlinson!”

“What does this have to do with him?”

“Oh, come on! Everybody knows how close you two have become--!”

“—it’s not—!“

“And he’s a megalomaniac--!”

“—You don’t even know what you’re talking about—!“

“—You’re eating out of his hand—!“

“—You don’t bloody know him--!”

“—You’re already turning against us--!”

“Boys!”

It was Mrs. Hester, the school librarian. Usually a soft-spoken woman, even she was triggered by two boys yelling expletives in the depository of knowledge. They had the dignity to look a little bit ashamed.

“Get to class. Both of you.”

The boys glared daggers at each other and as they emerged into the main belly of the library, Zayn hissed, “Don’t talk to me anymore.”

“Don’t _you_ talk to _me_ anymore,” Niall hissed back, getting him a hand on his chest from Mrs. Hester and a pointed, “Niall!”

Peaches and cream complexion now pink, Niall turned and marched peevishly to his music class.

~*~

Niall didn’t go to the last class of the day. Instead, he found himself sitting at the front of the school, sitting on the planter directly before the main doors. It was cold, of course, but Niall relied on that to keep him awake and alert for all the processing of thoughts and feelings he needed to accomplish. As always, in situations like this, his journal was open and he was scribbling.

_I think everything, everything would go away if I could just get up in front of everyone, my parents, my school, the world, and say, “Look. The most important thing you need to know about me right now is I’m madly in love with Louis Tomlinson and it’s the first thing to make me really happy in a long, long time.”_

Nobody bothered him. After perhaps a half hour the janitor, a man in his late fifties with no discernable proclivity for communing with children, asked him whether he shouldn’t be in class. Yes, Niall agreed, he should be in class. The man had no follow-up for that and went back about his business.

Niall continued writing until the bell rang. Knowing the halls would soon be flooded with people potentially capable of peering over his shoulder, Niall folded up his notebook and put it in his backpack. Not much in the way of insight had dawned upon him in that hour of reflection, but it did give him the resolution for what he had to do next, which involved a field, a shed, and a very lost young man.

He took his time packing his things away, certainly in no hurry to get on with it. Then an arm wrapped around his neck and he was dragged off the planter by the only person who routinely greeted him by taking forceful control of his head, John.

“There’s my favorite I-RISH-MUN!”

Ed and Sam were there, too, looking a bit bug-eyed no doubt from one of Mrs. Tindell’s lectures. “You weren’t in class,” Ed accused him when John finally set him free.

“You missed Precious telling Jackie that if she had to listen to any more of her dumb shit, she’d throw her keys at her teeth,” Sam smiled, clearly still taken by the incident. Niall was honestly sorry to have missed it.

“We’re going to the pizza joint on Fairfax. Wanna join us?”

Yes. In that instant, Niall wanted nothing more than to go to a smelly, under-sanitized pizzeria and stuff his face full of greasy, cheesy food with three boys, none of whom he found sexually attractive. It would be such a refreshing change of pace and return to normalcy.

“I can’t,” he said regretfully, “I promised to meet someone.”

That inspired a menagerie of wolf whistles and catcalls. Niall rolled his eyes as his friends jostled him around. “It’s not like that!” he protested, even though it was and no one was listening.

“Who is she?”

“Let me guess, she has long brown hair and thick glasses.”

“Dude, shut up. They aren’t going anymore.”

“What?”

“You are way far behind on the gossip, Ed.”

“Wait, what? You’re not going to homecoming with Corsen?”

Niall shook his head, no. John and Sam looked at Ed like he was a pariah.

“Well, then who are you going with?”

Instantly, Niall forgot. He wracked his brains for who it could have been and, given a few seconds, he could have come up with a name; however he wasn’t given a few seconds and the other boys burst out laughing.

“Too many hoes to keep track!”

“Well, when you can have your pick, who cares what their names are!”

“Yeah, unless it’s Eleanor,” Sam sassed, doing a schmoopy and starry eyed imitation of Niall that made them all laugh until Ed said, “Uh-oh, shhh!”

Louis and Eleanor herself had come through the front doors. Louis had his girlfriend tucked close against him and was whispering silly nonsense into her ear that was making her smile and blush.     The four boys went awkwardly silent, which attracted more attention to them than if they had been making a ruckus.

Louis spotted them and, after giving Eleanor a quick peck on the cheek, went zipping over to the four of them, giving Sam, John, and Ed all high fives before he took hold of Niall’s head and landed a huge, smacking kiss on his cheek. “Jefferson Valley FTW!” he crowed, making it the first time Niall had ever heard anyone just say the letters ‘FTW’ in the real world. All the same, he cheered with the other boys, bright red and pleased, as Louis went trotting back to Eleanor, where he directed his over abundant energy at her and picked her up, carrying her off for several yards, which she endured with grace and patience.

“There, there,” John said, patting Niall’s back as he watched Louis flirting with his girlfriend. “There are other girls.”

“Uh… Yeah,” Niall conceded stupidly. “I gotta go. I’ll catch you guys around.”

Exposed in the open air in the declining evening, Niall couldn’t help but notice it was time to invest in a heavier coat. He had heard about Colorado winters and wasn’t entirely certain it was something a thin-blooded Irishman could survive. All the same, as got on his bike and pedaled slowly toward the field, he was warmed to his core by the kiss he could still feel lingering on his cheek. It soothed away the guilt of what he had done to Hannah and the pain of Zayn’s abandonment. It even fortified him for what he had to do next.

When the field came into view, Niall could see the oncoming winter in how the stalks had lost a bit of their red and were now more of a pale yellow. Standing in the middle of the field looked to be a scarecrow figure dressed in black and even from here, Niall could tell it was Harry, standing with his back to him. Niall approached slowly, letting his bike fall away into the stalks and as he neared, he saw that Harry was looking at something at his feet.

Niall came abreast of him and even though Harry neither lifted his head nor looked at him, Niall could tell the other boy knew he was there and who he was. Playing a round his feet, batting at the over-long drawstring that was dangling off of Harry’s sweatpants, was Maisie. She had gotten much bigger from when Niall had seen her last and she looked healthy and spry, if not perhaps a little pudgy around the middle.

Harry was clearly enchanted with her. It was hard not to be, the way she would fall all over herself, rolling around on Harry’s shoes and getting startled by the stalks when the wind made them bend too low. She would even attack Harry’s legs when the drawstring lashed against them and though it looked painful to Niall, Harry didn’t seem to mind. Niall laughed softly and Harry was clearly pleased, the echo of dimples apparent in his cheeks.

“Now it’s cold, she’s more cuddly,” Harry said quietly, after several minutes of the pair of them enjoying the cat’s theatrics. Then he scooped her up under her middle with one big hand and tucked her against his chest. She had the drawstring locked in her claws and was merrily chewing on it as Harry peppered her head with kisses.

“She’s a good cat,” Niall said, reaching up to let her sniff his hand. It kept her interest for all of two seconds.

A strong gust of icy wind suddenly slashed at them, cutting through Niall’s hoodie and sticking to his bones. With Maisie snuggled into one arm, Harry tucked Niall close with the other and swiftly trundled them both into his little shack. With no insulation or means to generate heat itself, the tool shed wasn’t much warmer than being outside, but at least it defended them from the wind, which was easily the worst part.

Niall was shivering, trying to curl up to retain heat, and he felt Harry enclose him in his arms. Harry was warm and he was still carrying Maisie who, deciding it was terribly uncomfortable being smooshed between them, clawed her way up Harry’s shirt to his shoulder.

They stayed like this for some time. Niall closed his eyes. He could feel the slow, rhythmic pounding of Harry’s heart against his chest and the warmth of his breath from where he’d nuzzled his cheek against Niall’s temple. Maisie’s tail was curling slowly, sometimes stroking briefly against Niall’s chin before disappearing, then coming back to tickle him again. Even the sound of the wind through the chinks and cracks in the shed felt comforting and Niall felt the pain and tension of the day seep out of him. He could feel himself begin to thaw, could feel his body start to relax, could feel how perfectly the ridge of his cheekbone fit into Harry’s collarbone. It felt like the most natural thing in the world when Harry tipped his chin up and pressed a cozy kiss into his lips.

“Um,” Niall said, pulling back and stepping away as he felt himself falling into that embrace. Louis’ kiss was burning on his cheek, reminding him of why he was here. “We—We have to talk.”

Maisie jumped down to the bed and Harry looked confused, his full mouth in a slight pout. “About what?”

“Um…” Suddenly, all of Niall’s carefully planned words seemed to fall apart. He tried to back up until he was out of reach of Harry’s arms, but Harry trailed after him, reaching. “Don’t,” Niall said, stopping him cold. It clearly didn’t fit in Harry’s mind that Niall should be so close, but Harry wasn’t allowed to touch him. His confusion descended quickly to distress, which Niall found infectious.

“We can’t – We can’t see each other anymore, Harry.”

“Why not?”

“We just – We can’t.”

He saw Harry’s entire body change. He went from being a soft, welcoming figure in which to take refuge to being made of jagged edges that would cut any that came too near. “Why?” he insisted again. “Why? Niall, tell me why!”

“We can’t—“

“Don’t say that again! Tell me why! You’re my—You’re my—I want you to be my boyfriend!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t—Harry, I’m sorry—“

“I love you,” Harry said, the pain unveiled on his face. “I don’t understand; why are you doing this to me? What did I do wrong? Niall, I love you—“ He reached for Niall again and there was nowhere for Niall to retreat. Harry hugged him jealously against his chest, speaking in short, urgent bursts, “I love you. I’ll take care of you. Nothing will ever hurt you, Niall. I promise. Don’t go. Say you’ll stay. Say you’ll love me back. I know you can love me back—“

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because, Harry—“

“Why?”

“Because I’m in love with somebody else!”

This time, when Niall struggled to get free, Harry let him go. They stared at each other and Niall could feel the shaking come back, even though he wasn’t cold anymore. His stomach was weak and his knees suddenly felt faulty. He wanted to cry, but schooled his features to stoicism, even as he watched Harry turn into fire.

“With who?” he asked, the tension in his voice making it pitch a little higher.

“Oh, Harry…” Niall flinched.

“With who?!”

“You know who!” Niall snapped back, feeling himself resent Harry for putting him through this, even though, deep in his belly, he felt he deserved it.

“Say it!”

“Harry—“

“Say his name!”

“Why? You know who it—“

“Say his goddamn name!”

“It’s Louis, ok? Louis Tomlinson, I’m in love with Louis Tomlinson!”

There was a dangerous second in which Niall felt it might be prudent to run for his life, but when Harry’s fist came down, it was on the top of the tiny, rotted dresser. “FUCK!” he roared, his fingers splintering the wood. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” With each word, his fist came down again and each punch was harder than the one before it. The wood of the dresser splintered and Maisie tore from the shed through a hole in the wall with a scream.

“Fuck!” Harry cried again, pulverizing the already destroyed piece of furniture. He put his hands over his face, where Niall could see the splinters and torn flesh hanging off his knuckles. Harry hissed through his teeth as if he’d been dealt a knife wound and when he emerged, he screamed at Niall, “He doesn’t love you back! He won’t love you! He can’t love you!”

“That’s not true!” Niall retaliated, his fear submerged with anger.

“You fucking idiot!” Harry raged, his voice ragged from the intensity of his screaming. “You aren’t supposed to be like the rest! You’re supposed to be different! You’re supposed to see through his bullshit! He’s a liar! He’s a LIAR!”

“You’re just jealous--!”

“He’s going to hurt you! You’re supposed to be different!” Then, overwhelmed with a fury he couldn’t contain, Harry gripped his hair and hid behind his closed elbows and screamed at the top of his lungs in a way that made Niall’s breath catch. As frightened as he was, as much as he felt caged with a wild animal, he was compelled to fight back.

“It’s not, it’s not like that, Harry! You don’t know what he’s like, you don’t know what he’s like with me—“

“HE’S A LIAR!” Harry bellowed, his breathing sporadic and harsh. “He’s a liar! He’ll use you! He uses everybody! He used me, he uses that girl of his, he even uses the fucking teachers! I hate him!”

“Shut up!” Niall shrieked at him, putting his hands over his ears, so terrified of hearing things he suspected were true. “Shut up, just fucking shut up! He’s with me and he loves me and you don’t know what you’re talking about! You’re just _jealous_!”

“Niall… Niall…” Harry took his wrists, trying to take control of him and they scuffled for a brief moment before Niall wriggled free and barked, “Leave me alone, Harry! I don’t want to see you anymore! We aren’t friends!”

“Don’t you dare be with him! Don’t you dare fucking be with him!” Harry retaliated. “If I see you with him, I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill him! I’ll fucking kill him, Niall!”

From anyone else, Niall would have taken such a threat as hyperbole, but coming from Harry, it made Niall’s blood run cold. “I’m leaving,” he said, his voice as icy as the wind. “I’m leaving, I am never coming back and I never, ever want to see you again, Harry Styles.”

His hand was on the doorknob and he could feel the outside air on his cheeks, when he was taken from behind in a desperate embrace. “Don’t.” Harry’s voice sounded so different, for a second, Niall didn’t recognize it. The word came out as a sob and there was a lack of certainty in Harry’s arms as if he didn’t know how to touch him anymore. His hands clutched at Niall’s clothes and he could feel tears on his neck from where Harry buried his face against him. “Please, don’t. Please, don’t leave me, I’ll do anything, please don’t leave me, I promise, I won’t touch him, I won’t ever go near him, I swear, just don’t leave me.” The words came so fast and were so garbled, Niall almost didn’t catch any of them. He felt his own resistances fade and he was absolutely disarmed by what Harry had become.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Harry gasped, scrambling to turn the other boy in his arms, his grip weak from trembling. “I’ll tell you whatever you want, whatever you want to know, I’ll answer all your questions, I’ll tell you anything—“

“Harry—“ Niall said, more at a loss with Harry’s despair than he was with his anger. “Harry, I can’t—“

“The first time I had sex was with my Aunt Tanya, she brought me alcohol and I was fourteen and I’d never drank before and I got really, really drunk—“ Tears and intermittent sobs marred his speech, but Niall went completely still in disbelief at what he was hearing. “—and she started touching me and I didn’t know what to do and it felt good and I was really confused and I don’t remember what happened—“

“Harry, stop!”

“—not clearly, I just remember mom coming home and I was naked and she was screaming and I got beat so bad that night—“

“Harry!” Niall tried to shake him to make him shut up, but the words were pouring out as steadily as the tears down his face and he babbled, “And I’m the reason Aunt Tanya can’t come by anymore and she was the only person who was nice to me and my sister—“

“Stop!” Niall pressed his hand over Harry’s mouth and even cradled him by the back of his head to add more pressure. His heart was hammering in his chest and his breath felt sharp and foreign in his throat. “Stop,” he said again, softly this time, even though Harry offered no resistance. On the contrary he closed his eyes and leaned into Niall’s touch, his tears dripping down over the other boy’s fingers.

“I’m so sorry,” Niall whispered as he slowly took his hands away. “Harry, I’m so sorry…” He wasn’t certain what he was apologizing for, but it probably ranged from the breakup at present back to everything that had ever happened to Harry in his life.

Harry didn’t lift his eyes, but remained entirely still, except for when a soft sob or sniffle rocked his body. His arms were still clenched in Niall’s clothes and he carefully bowed forward to rest his forehead against Niall’s.

After a moment, he said, “I love you,” with the same confusion of someone who had the most magnificent key that mysteriously couldn’t open any doors.

Niall nodded. There was no doubt in his mind that it was absolutely true, although there was doubt that he would ever hear anyone else ever say it to him as earnestly. “I know,” he said gently. “I know you do.”

“Then stay with me.”

For an instant, Niall thought he would. He could see it; coming here to Harry after school, cuddling up against the cold with Maisie atop them, listening to the radio and reading through Rolling Stones magazines. He imagined how safe and at peace he would feel in Harry’s arms. He could see them making love for hours over lazy weekends, both of them snickering as Harry introduced him to some trendy new sex act. He could see himself after a soccer victory, running into Harry’s arms and accepting his congratulatory kisses. Best of all, he could see both of them leaving this ridiculous town; he could see how well Harry would like Ireland, how he would fit in perfectly, how beautiful he would be when he inevitably thrived being away from the trauma of his upbringing.

But then he saw other things: He saw the faces of his parents when he brought Harry home. He heard Greg’s voice saying to him, “I expected better from you than someone like him, mate”. He saw the entire school, John, Zayn, Natalie, Bartly, Louis, Liam, all turn on him, because Harry was poor and Harry wasn’t popular.

“I can’t,” Niall winced, wondering what the hell he was doing. “I can’t, I’m so sorry.”

He felt the fingers in his shirt slowly loosen and he knew Harry was defeated. Carefully plucking Harry’s hands from his clothing, he put them to Harry’s sides. All this, Harry allowed dociley, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed as if by deep concentration he could ward off the breaking of his heart.

Niall stayed with him a moment longer, before whispering, “Goodbye, Harry.” Then he kissed his cheek, lifted his hood up over his head and left with no other sound than the howling of the wind and the closing of a door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the end, friends! Not by a long shot!


	21. Foot Leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Of course I haven't forgotten this -- and I won't :) For those of you with comments concerned I've jumped ship, I do apologize for not updating in a timely manner but allow me to becalm you that I have every intention of finishing it. Unfortunately, Real Life demands have been increasingly time consuming and strenuous. 
> 
> That said, enjoy! I always love to hear from you all!

The next two nights, Niall didn’t sleep very well. His eyes wouldn’t close and his heart wouldn’t stop pounding. The days, he didn’t fare much better. He put less consideration into what he cooked and packed for lunch and on Wednesday, it seemed all he had a mind to put in his lunch sack was an apple. When it came time to eat it, Niall couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

He was eating his lunches, or, rather, not eating them, with Louis and the rest of the team, now. After searching the courtyard and finding it devoid of Zayn and Hannah, he had shyly approached the table the footballers had claimed as their own. He was welcomed with an appropriate amount of celebration and the general recognition that Niall was now unequivocally one of them. Louis would smile and wink at him so much that Niall could easily overlook Eleanor, who was perpetually perched in his lap. Liam pointedly never looked at or spoke to him, which Niall considered a step in the right direction.

There were several times over those two days that Niall tried to get Louis to himself, in hopes of enjoying the reward for which he’d sacrificed so much. It was difficult. The boy was constantly surrounded by friends and Eleanor was never out of arm’s reach. Niall would stalk him as inconspicuously as possible, but Louis caught him every time and would give him a cheeky grin. Once, between sixth and seventh period, the same time when Niall and Zayn used to hold their daily conference, Louis corralled him into one of the boys’ bathroom stalls, kissed him savagely and rubbed the bulge in his trousers for three minutes, then left him the second the bell rang, leaving Niall a hard, trembling, messy-haired wreck. Many oaths of vengeance were made that day.

The day of the game, a school-wide assembly was held in the school gymnasium. As the students were filing out of their classes, Coach Bartly appeared and separated Niall from the herd, guiding him to the boys’ locker room. At first, Niall feared he might be in for a scolding of some sort until he saw the entire soccer had already been corralled before him. John let out a whoop when he saw him and Bartly told them all to wait there.

Instinctively, Niall went to sit beside Louis, whose knees were bouncing up and down in excitement so much so that Liam, on his other side, was sending him death glares.

“What is this?”

“This is our assembly, man! Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything. You just go out there when they say your name and then we just sit behind Blakely and Bartly while they talk about how awesome we are.”

This rankled Niall’s sensibilities. He wasn’t comfortable with assuming he was important enough to warrant an assembly, and he certainly wasn’t comfortable with assuming anyone in the audience would give a shit.

“Oh,” he said lamely.

His displeasure must have showed on his face, because Louis elbowed him and snorted, “C’mon. You deserve it, soak it up!”

Niall smiled shyly, feeling himself get warmer for Louis’ kindness. He stole a glance around the locker room and the team’s excited chatter, coupled with the echoing environment guaranteed Niall’s privacy when he asked, “Hey, when can I see you again?”

“Oh!” Louis looked surprised by the question. “Um. I dunno. Maybe we can meet up in the girls’ after the game tonight?”

The very prospect of having his lips against Louis’ again made everything in the world seem lovely, even an unnecessarily self-congratulatory school assembly.

Bartly lined all the teammates up against the wall and told them he would call their names and their job, when called, was to come out with a lot of jumping-up-and-down type enthusiasm and really ‘hype the crowd.’ Everyone on the team seemed excited about this with the exception of Niall and Liam. For once, they were on the same page and actually shared a look.

The sound of several hundred teenagers screaming as he entered the gymnasium was truly overwhelming. An ocean of sensory stimulus was washing over him and it was all he could do to run to where Sam was gesticulating wildly at him from a row of chairs that had been lined up at the back of a makeshift stage. Once he sat and was able to get a good look at the roaring monster, and see it was only bleacher after bleacher of cheering classmates, he calmed a bit.

“Cool, huh?” Sam yelled at him.

“Yeah!” Niall returned, to not step on his high.

“And, last but certainly not least,” Bartly was belching into the microphone at the podium at the front of the stage, “Jefferson Valley High’s own soccer captain: Louis Tomlinson!”

The crowd went absolutely wild, particularly in the soprano section. Louis was the only one of the team members to not skip excitedly out to the stage, but he strolled, waving confidently, all magnanimity. When he finally made it to the stage, he didn’t sit with the rest of the team, but sat directly in front of Niall, in the chair next to Bartly’s. From here, Niall could stare at the back of his head adoringly and not get caught.

Bartly stayed at the mic, encouraging as many cheers and whistles as he could before the focus-challenged teenagers lost interest. Then, he launched immediately into stories of the team’s former glory, recounting the great saves and scores of the past and talking about them as if they were frankly, far older and far more impressive than they actually were.

Niall zoned out pretty fast.

He was busy scanning the bleachers for his friends and found them pretty easily. True to form (although it was certainly more Zayn’s idea than Hannah’s), they had secreted themselves at the back of the bleachers where the lights weren’t so bright, and all the way to the left. This, Niall knew, was Zayn’s hipster form of protest. He kept waiting for them to look up so he could wave at them, or at least see their faces, but they kept themselves pointedly preoccupied with something on Zayn’s phone. It got so irritating that Niall would have called their names if it wouldn’t have brought the entire Jefferson Valley High populace’s attention to him.

“Hey,” Louis had turned around in his seat and smacked Niall on the thigh, “At least wave or something—“

“They’re not even looking; why would I bother waving?”

Louis curled his lip in confusion. “What? What are you even talking about? Holly! She’s sitting right in front for you – wave or something!”

Niall refocused his eyes and sure enough, there was pixie-ish Holly Baker, her blonde hair framing her cherubic face and her eyes directly on Niall instead of the continually droning Coach Bartly. Instinctively, Niall waved, feeling like it was more of a defense mechanism than an actual greeting. All the same, it had the endearing response of making her sit up straighter and she bit her lip as she gave him a discreet but heartfelt little wave back.

“You are so getting some,” Sam muttered to him. At the same time, Louis turned around in his seat to give him a wink.

“I fucking hope so,” Niall muttered back.

~*~

The rest of the day involved such charming events as an extra lap in gym, Wilma Hessy getting on the school intercom and telling Devendra Hawkins she loved him, and the passing out of ballots to vote for the homecoming king and queen. Niall voted for Louis, and from what he saw, everyone else did the same. As exciting as all these things were, they would all swiftly be erased from Niall’s memory and in their place, the panoramic, awe-inspiring view of a soccer field, primed and glowing with the promise of his first, honest-to-God soccer game in a proper goddamn stadium.

Sam and John and he had all converged, silently for once, in the hall and marched with purpose onto the pitch. Niall could feel the excited electricity crackling from the other two, adding to his own. The grass seemed greener than it ever had for practice and although the sun hadn’t disappeared yet, the stadium lights were on, making everything pop with color.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Sam asked, because somebody had to.

“Homecoming is important,” John explained, “because the homecoming game is always played at the school of the previous year’s winner.”

“We’ve always had the first game,” Sam smiled. “As long as I’ve been here.”

“So, barely four years,” John said, undercutting all of the momentum they’d built. The three of them laughed, a bit giddy.

“So, what do you think is gonna happen when –“ But Sam didn’t get to finish his sentence. At first, there was just a general cacophony of raised voices in the echoing halls. The three boys looked back down the vomitorium and saw a handful of their compatriots had opened the door to the boys’ locker room. Initially, Niall assumed that the billowing grey gusts that came out of the door was nothing more than shower steam or, at worst, the stoners had forgotten that it was game day and had decided to use the locker room to light up.

“Holy shit!” John was the first to realize it wasn’t either of these things and took off running with the rest of the team into the building. That was when it hit Niall’s nostrils – that was real smoke, black and thick and dangerous. He started coughing and reached out for Sam, who also looked inclined to go running into the building.

“Are you crazy? Don’t go in there! Are you crazy?”

“The team’s in there! What if someone’s in there!”

“You could die!”

The noise from the locker room was raucous. There was screaming, roaring perhaps more appropriately, and the sound of clashing and banging.

“Come on!” Sam yelled at him and Niall, his previous caution forgotten, raced after him, into the dragon’s den. It was hard to see through all the smoke and Sam and Niall had their shirts up their noses, but they coughed anyway. They didn’t even bother investigating the undisturbed rows of lockers and raced instead to the back of the room to the showers, where they heard the fracas. There, what they saw took Niall a few seconds to put together.

John was in the shower with a stadium sized metal trash bin, dumping flaming piles of indistinguishable black onto the tiles while Max turned on all the showerheads to put it out. But that wasn’t what caught Niall’s attention.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing, Styles!?” Liam roared, Harry’s arm clutched in one fist and his other one coming down hard on the boy’s temple. It was enough to take Harry to his knees, but Liam wouldn’t let him fall. He hoisted him up again, this time with the help of a furious Eric Maestas, who snarled, “Motherfucker!” as he brought his knee into the soft of Harry’s belly, doubling him with ease.

“Stop!” Niall howled, rushing forward to push Eric out of striking distance, but Liam’s broad, powerful hand caught him in his advance, shoving him hard into the chest and sending him clattering back into a row of lockers.

“Stay out of this, Niall!”

“WHOA!” Sam reprimanded sharply as he hurried to Niall’s side, helping him to his feet and making sure he was uninjured. “What’s going on? Somebody tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“They’re our jerseys,” John’s baritone muted all other voices. He was holding a soggy strip of black for everyone’s inspection, but whatever it once was was now unrecognizable. “He burned our jerseys.”

“What the _fuck_!” Liam and Eric unleashed their fury, then, landing blows on Harry that were intended to break him. It took Niall a second to truly put his finger on what was disturbing about this beyond the obvious outpouring of violence, but when he did, it nauseated him to the core of his being:

Harry wasn’t fighting back. He would cower from the strikes, and try to defend his face and head, but beyond that, he made no effort to stop the onslaught. He didn’t even try to get away, just pressed himself against the wall and the floor, trying to turtle.

“Stop! Liam, stop!” In that instant, Niall felt that seeing Harry take one more punch or kick might literally tear him to pieces. Wrenching away from the grip Sam had on him, Niall flung himself at Liam, using the entire weight of his body to barrel Liam into the wall. Once he had the other boy off balance and stumbling, Niall had no idea how to take advantage of it, so he simply stood there, startled and confused by what he’d just done, while Liam got his feet under himself and got only angrier.

“Whose fucking side are you on, Horan?” Niall heard from Eric behind him. Liam looked less interested in hearing the answer to that question and more interested in rearranging Niall’s face. Liam came at him, then, his fist raised in a strike that would no doubt break all the delicate bones of Niall’s eye socket, but he rooted himself into the earth, prepared to act as a bulwark between him and Harry.

That was when a soot-stained hand shot out, interrupting Liam’s advance. It was John, whose constitution was refined for wrestling cattle and easily managed to get Liam under control. “Be cool! Just be cool!” he barked. “We’re a team, we’re not hitting each other!”

“That little shit--!”

“What in sam hell is going on here?” A new voice rang out. Coach Bartly emerged from the rows of lockers, his face already set in a furious scowl, Jared Meyers and a few other teammates in tow. Louis appeared behind of them, gobsmacked at finding the showers full of a trash can and charred, black muck, the air full of smoke, two of their teammates grappling, and Harry Styles hanging limp and bloody from Eric Maestas’s fist.

“I’ll ask again,” Bartly was trying to keep his cool, but no one was buying it, “What the hell happened in here?”

“Harry burned all our jerseys,” Max spoke up. “This little fucker burned them all! The game starts in two fucking hours!” Eric tried to hoist Harry to his feet and succeeded in at least leaning him back against the wall. Blood was pouring out of his nose and he didn’t lift his eyes, which were both rapidly swelling.

Their coach went to the showers and kicked around the filthy sludge that had one been their proud school colors. Then he started to stalk around, running his hand over his fallen face, which was getting redder and reader.

“Coach, what’re we gonna—“

But Max was interrupted by the loud, sharp sound of Bartly backhanding Harry across the face. “You little piece of shit!” he snarled violently. Everyone went stalk still. Even Liam and Eric seemed shaken by the sight of a teacher striking a student. In fact, the only person who didn’t seem shocked by it at all was Harry.

“Hey, coach, calm down a bit, maybe,” John tried, but Bartly was lifting Harry from the wall and shoving him into Eric’s arms. “Take him to the principal’s! Call the goddamn police!” Eric didn’t hesitate to follow his command and, when Harry had trouble walking, Max came to his other side to facilitate the process.

As they dragged him past Niall, Harry looked up for the first time that evening and Niall caught a glimpse of a bright green, bloodshot eye, full of pain and sorrow.

“We’ll put your punk ass in jail for this, Styles! Right where you fucking belong!” Bartly railed.

His voice echoed in the room, the boys too disturbed to dare risk bringing Bartly’s attention on them. Niall was shaking and he wouldn’t have hesitated to go running after Harry if it weren’t for that look; that last look that made Niall feel responsible for this.

“Hey,” a gentle touch fell on his shoulderblade, “You ok?” Niall looked up and it was Louis standing behind him, the sapphire of his eyes conveying how rattled he was, despite the solidity of his voice. Niall nodded, trying to likewise appear unaffected.

“Aw, man. We have to call it off,” Jared said, crouching over the remnants of their uniforms.

“I am not calling off the most important goddamn game—“

“It’ll be fine,” Louis said, cutting off what was about to be an unhinged tirade from his coach that would have done nothing but to further upset everyone. “We don’t have to call off the game, ok? We’ll wear what we wear to practice. We’ll just be a little motley out there, alright? C’mon, it’ll be like the Mighty Ducks. “

“We’ll look like damn fools!” Bartly fumed, resuming his pacing.

“Louis’ right,” John said, encouraging the fight against Bartly’s despondence. “We’re good soccer players. We’re damn fine soccer players. We don’t need jerseys to wipe the floor with these guys!”

“We don’t need no stinkin’ jerseys!” Sam crowed, and even though no one got the reference, Sam had finally found the line that got a relief chuckle out of those who had been so desperate for one.

“Ok,” Louis clapped his hands, which had the magical effect of focusing any sportsman in a half mile radius. “Here’s what we’re gonna do: everybody go home and find your favorite practice gear. Don’t worry about whether or not it matches, it just can’t be purple or orange – those are Cougar colors.”

Everyone seemed ready to agree to that and even more ready to get out of that dank, still smoky room. Even the Coach’s fury seemed to have burned itself off and he released them with, “Alright, everyone go home and get changed. Drink lots of water, take a shower. I wanna see you all back here at six thirty, ready to kick some Cougar ass!”

The boys all cheered, more out of release than enthusiasm.

When they spilled out into the vomitorium, Niall took a moment to lean against the far wall and breathe the fresh air. He felt weak in all of his joints and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, as soon as he got home, he would take Bartly’s advice and stand in a shower til he’d washed off as much of this encounter as he could.

“Yo!”

Niall opened his eyes and saw John standing there, smiling comfortingly.

“Hey,” Niall said, unable to find the same level of enthusiasm.

“Wear your kit, ok?” John said, gamely smacking him on the shoulder.

Niall scoffed, which almost came out as a sob, but he saved it at the last second. “My kit’s burned with everyone else’s.”

“No,” John insisted. “Wear your kit kit. That you wore to tryouts!”

Niall thought of the flamboyant red and white he had tucked away in his closet and immediately shook his head. “No. No way.”

“C’mon,” John goaded gently. “We need something to rally behind. We don’t have a mascot like the fricken football team.”

“You want me to be our mascot?”

“Aren’t you kind of already?” John’s laugh was brotherly and Niall had to join him.

“Yeah,” he conceded, “I guess I am.”

“Besides, no matter how badly you play, you get all dolled up in that, everyone’ll just love you.”

That really got a guffaw out of Niall, who swung at him a few times, knowing John’s rodeo frame was more than capable of withstanding it. He was subdued by John trapping his head in his armpit, as usual.

As they walked over to the bike rack, John commented with no small amount of sadness, “I don’t know why Harry has to do shit like that. It’s not like burning our uniforms was going to stop the game, anyway.”

When John set Niall free, he went to his bike and crouched to release the U-lock. As he did so, however, his hands slowed and he paused. “I don’t think that’s why he did it,” Niall said, quietly. Of course, he had a very informed opinion about why Harry would want to retaliate against the soccer team – specifically Niall and Louis, but something wasn’t sitting right with him even with that explanation.

“Yeah, well, you don’t know,” John said. “He’s had a real beef with us for a few years now.”

“Why?”

“There are a lot of rumors. Something about what happened between him, Louis and Kennedy Sherman.”

The name rang a bell, but Niall couldn’t put it together. “Kennedy Sherman?”

“Yeah, Harry broke his jaw or something. I really don’t know. I try to keep out of the drama as much as possible. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, the team kind of likes that sort of stuff. Worse than the goddamn theater kids, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Niall mumbled, wrenching his U-lock free and pulling his bike from the rack.

“Best to not get caught up in it. Anyway, I’ll see you later, mascot!”

Niall gave him a grin, despite the nausea he’d felt since seeing Harry limply sagging from Eric’s hand, and watched him depart. He needed a moment to himself to make his stomach quiet. In spite of his best efforts, Niall couldn’t banish the image of Harry, unresisting of his abuse, from his mind. That was when a very strange and yet very probable notion came to Niall’s mind. Perhaps Harry didn’t burn the uniforms to stop the team from playing so much as he burned the uniforms because he wanted a beating.

The thought was so grim and so ugly, Niall put his hands over his face as if he could smother it out of his brain. He knew what it was to feel so terrible on the inside, that the only way to balance it was to feel equal pain on the outside.

His empathy for the other boy was unbearable. He flung himself on his bike and started churning as fast as he could to the boy’s shack. He didn’t know what he was going to say and he certainly didn’t know how to make anything right, but he knew he had to try.

The cabin was still and no lights were on within. Niall didn’t bother knocking, but shoved the door open and tramped inside. The tiny shed was empty and, much to his surprise, not ripped to the ground or dismantled in any way. Perhaps more distressing however, was Harry’s notebook on the bed; to be more precise, Harry’s notebook all over the bed, in pieces. The shreds of paper looked like snow; they had been crushed and torn to flakes. Amidst them all, looking very pleased with the redecoration, was Maisie, blinking at him with sleepy kitty eyes.

Just as powerful as was his desire to come here arose a desire to leave. He was trespassing, but what was worse, he had a feeling his presence here would do more harm than good.

“Bye, Maisie,” Niall whispered to the cat, as he backed out of the room, wishing he’d never come. “Tell Harry I’m sorry.”

~*~

When Niall appeared in the locker room, bedecked in the beloved red and white given to him by his brother, he was almost deafened by the roar of boisterous high school boys. He got patted on the back, cheered, thanked, his kit tugged and pulled at so much he wondered if there would be a scrap left for him to wear. Then Parker tried to pants him and he only just caught his shorts before they were around his ankles.

He was the only one present in an actual uniform of any sort; everyone else wore the sundry, mismatched dresser-droppings that were usually worn for practice. When they all stood together, they looked like a quilt.

He saw Eric sitting in front of his locker, playing with the sweatbands he had around his wrists while his eyes stared dully at the shuffling milieu of sportsmen in front of him. By no stretch of the imagination did he look battle-ready; he looked like an old man.

“Hey,” Niall said, approaching him with purpose. The sound of his voice seemed to break Eric free of his trance and he finally stopped worrying the elastic around his wrist. “What happened?” Niall pressed, sitting next to him conspiratorially.

“What the fuck do you mean, what happened?” Eric returned waspishly. Niall wasn’t about to let his surly, antisocial demeanor put him off his investigation.

“With Harry. What happened with Harry?”

Eric glanced sharply at the coach’s office, through whose windows Bartly could be seen on the phone. It only seemed to make the footballer more nervous. “Um,” he huffed, running a hand over his forehead. “I might’ve fucked up.”

“How?” Niall pressed, knowing Bartly would be coming out of the office soon, and the time for conversation would be over and the time for gameplay would begin.

“I told… I mean, I may have mentioned to Blakely about—about Bartly smacking Harry.”

“You may have, or you did?”

“I did, alright?” Eric barked defensively. “I did, but I had to! If Harry called the cops or anything, it would’ve been a huge scandal! So… Harry agreed not to press charges against Bartly if the school didn’t press charges against him.”

Niall sagged with relief, folding over his knees for a moment and feeling that jagged shard of fear cease in its relentless stabbing of him. “So, he’s ok? Harry’s going to be ok?”

The other boy was eyeing him with marked suspicion. “Well, no. He’s expelled, obviously.”

“Alright,” Bartly appeared, cutting off their conversation abruptly and looking more discouraged than any of the teammates. “When we go out there, we’re gonna act like nothing’s wrong,” he told the group of boys who didn’t seem to think there actually was anything wrong in the first place, “and we’re gonna suck it up and we’re gonna do our best!”

It was perhaps the lamest pep talk given in the history of high school soccer. So, Louis jumped up on one of the benches and triumphed, “On three, we’re running onto that field like we’re goddamn Vikings on the shores of Ireland! And Niall’s running first! One! Two!”

Before he even got to three, Niall took off and he heard the battle cries of his teammates behind him. There was something inside him that needed to scream and stomp and ravage and he didn’t know its name. He charged onto the field with a roar of his own and he felt the earth shake from the hoard behind him. The Cougars were gathered at their benches and Niall led his army toward them, screaming their heads off and shaking their fists in the air as if they were brandishing Viking swords and battle axes. The stadium was filled with more people than Niall knew were in their entire town and upon seeing the scruffy top-cum-underdogs, they started making noise of their own, hallooing and stomping in the bleachers and whistling. There was laughter as well, heckling and cajoling from the visiting team’s supporters, but that only seemed to further embolden the Pumas. Niall took the team on an entire circuit of the field and the charge was so invigorating that by the time they got to the benches, Niall felt that they had already won and was somewhat startled to recall they had an entire game left to play.

The other team was amused, but certainly shocked and somewhat unsettled by the ramshackle appearance of their foes. They would have been a rather imposing force themselves, except for that they were all looking at each other with confusion and clearly trying to find someone who could tell them why the Pumas looked like a bunch of blood-frenzied orphans.

Their rebellious and empowering show of enthusiasm only seemed to build as the game actually started. There was a moment, hopping back and forth on his cleats, letting his ridiculously shiny kit glitter in the spotlights, that Niall felt super powered and found himself wishing Greg was there. His parents had declined to come of course, citing soccer exhaustion; having watched all of Greg’s footie matches, they were done with the sport as a whole. Niall wasn’t terribly surprised, but Niall knew his brother would’ve been there if only there wasn’t an ocean between them.

When the ref blew the whistle, handing the ball to the Cougar in the corner box, Niall felt like his blood had turned to lightening. He was faster than he’d ever been and almost didn’t know what to do with himself when he realized he was actually keeping pace with the other players. He felt less like a boy and more like a war horse as he stampeded across the field, uncertain from whence this sudden capability originated. He got knocked off his feet several times, but his momentum was such that he simply rolled along the grass until he revolved to being heads up, and then he kept running.

In fact, all of the Pumas were playing well. It seemed a pre-game show of adversity made them unite and fight back more vehemently than they ever would have had they rested on their laurels of being the reigning champions. Despite this, ten minutes before the end of the second half, one of the Cougar players managed to slip past John and accept an unblocked pass as he stood clear to Sam’s left, where the goalie clearly wasn’t expecting an attack. It was an excellently executed play that no one saw coming and with nine minutes left in the first half, the score was Cougars 1, Pumas 0.

Unfortunately for the Cougars, this only made the Pumas angrier. The remaining minutes of the half saw them playing soccer as if it was American football. Liam, Eric and Max all had penalties called on them in the span of a few minutes, but the advantage those penalties granted the other team were quickly razed to the ground as the Pumas attacked again voraciously. Their advance was ferocious and relentless and when the ball came into Niall’s possession, his path to the Pumas goal was as direct and unopposed as Genghis Khan’s advance to China. It was likewise as bloody when Niall, at full speed, drew his leg back and executed his battering ram of a kick, the blow of which could be heard even to the uppermost seats of the nosebleed section.

Unfamiliar with a Horan Kick as he was, the Cougar goalie dove for it and, to his credit and regret, actually got it in his hands, but the velocity of such a missile was certainly not going to stop for any mortal parts. The ball slashed right through them and the goalie hissed in pain and started flapping his hands oddly in an attempt to shake the stinging out of his bones.

The crowd erupted in hysteria that boomed throughout the stadium and was more of a rocking of the earth than it was a sound. Niall was grinning so brightly, he thought his face would crack and just before his teammates got to him to tackle him in delight, he looked into the stands, hoping he would see a pair of intense green eyes so he could see if his success might actually warrant the appearance of dimples.

But Harry wasn’t there. There was only a small, blonde haired girl screaming his name as she hopped up and down next to three other girls Niall didn’t immediately recognize, and Natalie Plympton; Natalie Plympton, whose face clearly denoted that she’d seen far superior goals scored in her lifetime. Niall realized he should probably wave at the girl who was screeching for him and by the time he remembered her name was Holly, he was getting his face smashed celebratorily into the earth by his teammates.

~*~

In the locker room, the high of being a hero so clouded Niall’s mind that he didn’t even really hear the coach’s pep talk. In fact, the only words that got through to him were: ‘can’, ‘shit’, ‘smash’, ‘dirt’, and ‘win this goddamn thing’.

“So, after the game, the girls’ locker room, yeah?” A silky voice carried on even silkier breath tickled his ear. Louis had flung his arm around Niall’s neck and was leaning all of that slender, boyish weight into him.

“Yeah,” Niall returned, turning to look at him and finding their faces so close together that Niall knew he could’ve licked Louis’ lips just by sticking his tongue out. For a moment, he almost forgot where he was and just did it, except Louis broke the intimacy by pulling away and saying with a grin and a wink, “Thanks for winning the game for us.”

Niall wasn’t so certain he had, especially because in the second half, the Cougars were ravenously fighting for their lives. The Pumas were still whipped into a blood frenzy, but the tie remained unbroken as the second half wore on. The Pumas’ exuberant mania swiftly condensed into hard-bitten determination and they toiled like a siege engine at the equally adamant fortifications of the other team. Likewise, the Cougars had realized that letting Niall control the ball was a death sentence and since the second half started, he was so well guarded, he was starting to feel like there wasn’t even a purpose to him being on the field –

Until he realized that he could use this to his advantage. The Cougars got so spooked whenever the ball went anywhere near him that sometimes they would be inclined to gang up on him, leaving the rest of his teammates open.

He caught Louis’ eye at almost the same time this occurred to him and, moving like a hornet, Niall went racing toward the goal as Eric dribbled the ball up the field. Sensing Niall’s aggression was the result of a last-ditch effort to break the tie, three defenders started making their move on him. However, there was a slight backfire in that while Niall had succeeding in confusing the other team, he’d confused Eric as well, who thought he saw an opening and passed Niall the ball. Spurting ahead of the boys ganging up on him, Niall managed to accept the pass, but he knew there was no chance he could wind up and fire before the entire team of Pumas were on him—

But there was Louis, standing directly to the right of the penalty box, completely open. In under a second, Niall managed to kick through the racing feet of his adamant pursuers and get the ball to his captain. With a grace and dexterity that was surely borrowed of an angel, Louis managed to both catch and kick the ball in one effortless motion that no doubt dazzled all who beheld it – including the Puma’s goalie who was a good second shy in even leaping to catch the damn thing.

The sound of jubilation went full circle and became silence as Niall charged at the beautiful boy who was jumping up and down in celebration of his own success and tackled him to the ground. They had only a second to smile at each other before the crush of their other teammates fell atop them and Niall didn’t mind because he was actually crying. For the first time in his life, he understood those actresses who blubbered into the microphone when they accepted their awards, because the tears were streaming down his face. He felt like a damned hyper-reactional idiot and more stupidly happy than he had ever been in his life, with his face buried in Louis’ neck, the other boy’s arms around him, and an entire soccer team atop the both of them.

For all that, they still had seven minutes left on the clock. They were some of the most exhilarating minutes of Niall’s life, since the Cougars were fighting out of deadly desperation. Every Puma was on the defense, Liam in particular making an impressive show of stalwart resistance every time the Cougars looked like they might have an advantage. At the end of the day, the clock wound down and the buzzer sounded, Pumas 2, Cougars 1.

There is no purpose in describing the joyous pandemonium that ensued. Very little of it penetrated the floating delirium of joyousness that had stupefied Niall. His shiny kit and indeed, every inch of him were covered with mud, but despite that, he knew he was glowing. The friends and family of both teams converged on the field, and suddenly athletes and celebrants became one in an ocean of people.

Louis, who was always his target, was flooded with admirers, most of them women. Of them, he recognized Natalie and a few of her girlfriends as well as Eleanor, who was rosy with pride and who never took her arms from around her boyfriend’s neck. Niall wanted to catch his eye, to share this moment of hard-fought victory with him, but soon he was pulled out to sea in a tide of fans.

He saw John, soaking in a tidepool of supporters, most of whom only came up to his hip. Niall assumed they were either younger siblings or cousins and they were looking up at him like he was a monument that reflected the actualization of their own burgeoning potential.

Then there were the rocky shores of the Payne family that other giddy celebrants crashed against and were lost. Liam was tucked in his letter jacket, his face still flushed from the game, but drawn; due no doubt to whatever sharp words were coming from the mouth of a woman who had Liam’s strong jaw and formidable brow. Her face was pinched and severe and Niall knew instinctively that this was his mother. Carey stood by her side, his eyes washing over the masses like a sweeping lighthouse looking for trouble. Niall swiftly dove into a current of students to avoid his gaze.

He was carried to the gates where, quite by chance, he saw Zayn and Hannah through the crowd. There was a thick thatch of people between them, so that when Niall called out, “Zayn!” it didn’t travel as far as it needed to for the other boy to hear. Niall couldn’t help but notice that Hannah had the tweed-with-leather-patches-on-the-elbows jacket that Zayn had worn when Niall first met him, slung over her shoulders while Zayn hugged himself against the cold.

“Zayn!” Niall tried again, after struggling a bit further through the crowd.

“Congratulations, man! You were incredible!” Dean Ross was suddenly on his shoulders, hugging and abusing him with affection and congratulations. Niall was happy to see him, but by the time Dean had told him what a badass he was and how he was going to be a legend at this school, Zayn and Hannah were nowhere to be seen. While Niall was so disappointed he had lost them, he felt a comforting warmth inside that they had come to his game at all.

Several other celebrants took hold of him then, all rosy-faced and happy, telling him what an excellent job he had done and that he should be proud of himself. He most certainly was proud of himself and he only wished he had someone to share it with. Even when the members of the other team approached him, beaten but honorable, and extended their hands, the glow of his victory felt hollow without a loving smile to confirm it with.

When he passed by the chain link to return to the locker room, for a moment, he thought he might have seen someone standing in the field he had once traversed with Harry, pointing at dandy lions. He thought perhaps it was a raccoon or even, if he was lucky, a fox. Idly he wondered if perhaps it was an animal of his team’s namesake and was grateful for the fence. He peered out into the darkness, hoping to catch a glimmer of movement.

“Hello?”

There was no return answer and Niall had almost convinced himself he had only seen a figment of the light. He was about to call out again, when there was a sharp slap on his ass and he turned to see Louis there, grinning cagily.

“Go shower. Then the girls, yeah?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah!” Niall grinned back.

This much earned him a wink as Louis flitted off and Niall was about to follow him, but chose instead to turn back to the dandy lion field. For several seconds, Niall stood staring at and listening to the black silence beyond the fence, but if there was anything out there, it made no attempt at communication and was content simply to stare back.


	22. There Are a Lot of Metaphors for Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, my beauties! You thought I'd forgotten about you, didn't you? Not bloody likely! This is a bit of a short, teaser chapter, but I wanted to get something out, something to let you know I just adore you, think of you often and am most certainly NOT QUITTING. I've been reinvigorated with inspiration for this little piece and have been writing as furiously as time allows. But the next chapter is a big 'un. And it's almost done. So the next update will come a bit more swiftly.
> 
> I'm also making a shift over to Tumblr. (Hey, who wants to be my new best friend and teach me how to use Tumblr!?) I'm gvbutterworth over there and I'm looking to make that my main platform of outreach and I want to see every one of your bright, shining faces over there! I'd love to find a community of writers and readers (no panic, I'll still update here, but it may not be as fast). Because I'm about halfway through another 1D Narry/Nouis/Zouis/Niam novel (YOU HEARD ME) and I'm looking for support. My little heart needs lots of support.
> 
> Anyway, who actually reads this stuff anyway? Block text is so last decade. 
> 
> I've missed you guys!! NEXT CHAPTER IS FREAKING HOMECOMING!

CHAPTER

After Niall emerged from the shower, he saw that the stadium was all but empty. A few patches of die-hard revelers cloistered, their voices raised in continued excitement. Having a previous engagement, Niall didn’t stop to chat with any of them and instead made a b-line to the girls’ locker room. He only slowed when he heard footsteps behind him, echoing through the hollow vomitorium; not wanting to be seen ducking into the ladies’ in the afterhours, he pulled out his phone and stalled, pretending to be distracted.

The footsteps soon overtook him and a smell of warm vanilla washed over him. Then, too, a hand stroked down his back, that made Niall look up and he saw the beautiful, redheaded Patricia Little, giving him a flirty smile.

“You coming?” she asked, licking her index finger as she gave him the sultriest of looks.

“N-no,” Niall stammered, but wasn’t so certain when he saw her push into the very door for which he was headed. She disappeared and suddenly Niall didn’t know what to do. Louis was presumably waiting in there for him and such a secret and inappropriately-placed rendezvous would be some awkward explaining to Patricia.

He slipped a little closer to the door and put his ear against it. There were voices, talking low; mostly female from what he could determine. Then, after tuning his ear to different frequencies, Niall heard lower tones. They were softer, longer, rhythmic: They were moans.

Curiosity overwhelmed prudence and Niall pushed through the swinging door. He moved swiftly to where he heard the sounds and there he saw a congregation of four people. Patricia and Natalie sat along the far wall beneath the lockers, huddled together as they rolled a joint. Even though they both lifted their eyes and Patricia greeted him with waves and an invitation, they couldn’t maintain Niall’s focus, which instantly shifted to the other couple in the room. Louis had Kelly Prescott pressed up against the locker, her skirt rucked up around her hips and his jeans down around his knees and it was there they were joined. It was Louis’ low moans that had come through the door as he rocked into her, and she was eerily making no noise at all, but rather staring over his shoulder at a fixed point, her fingers clutching at his t-shirt.

“Niall,” Natalie’s slick voice penetrated the fog of disbelief in which he’d found himself, but he still couldn’t tear his eyes away to look at her. “Come back and have a joint. Patricia wants to thank you for helping us win the game.”

A brief glance to the two girls in the back told him that while both girls were grinning at him hungrily, Natalie did so with a particularly challenging glare. He couldn’t bear to match her glower for too long and instead looked back to Louis, who only managed to emerge from Kelly‘s neck long enough to give him a wink and a particularly lecherous grin.

Every natural instinct Niall had in this moment was quashed by the screaming in his mind that he must not, under any circumstances, appear uncool. Later in life, when recounting this memory, which he would do ad nauseam in great detriment to his health, he would feel great shame at being cowed by so unworthy a motive. What he would have forgotten, due to subsequent events in which his perspective would be broadened and refined, is that in high school, a whiff of uncoolness in the wind to the top of the high school hierarchy was akin to a whiff of blood in the water to a hungry shark.

Niall wanted nothing more than to be cool in this situation, but he couldn’t even imagine what that would entail; the idea of smoking pot with the girls nauseated him; the thought of taking the open invitation of sex with Patricia revolted him; the possibility of approaching that thrusting tangle of Louis and Kelly made his world go dark with screaming madness. And in this delay of indecision, which took only a matter of seconds in the external world, but to Niall felt like several millennia, the anger was starting to settle in and the disgust was seeping into more visceral places.

“What? Shy?” Natalie taunted from the back.

Niall shook his head ‘no’. Shyness implied that he was eager to join this debauchery but self-conscious about it. No, he was outright repulsed. So much so, the locker room reduced to only the smell of mildew and stale sweat, the clammy, oppressive humidity in the air, and the slime and bacteria of so much human odiousness packed together in a cesspool.

Without a word, Niall fled the room as he would a backwater latrine. Once in the hall, he took a huge gulp of the fresh, cold air and felt it do good for the burning inside him. He emerged into the stadium again, where the bright stadium lights overwhelmed the stars. The sight of it refreshed him, but he could already feel his memory of this once-great day becoming tarnished and rotted by what he’d just witnessed.

He felt sick. He felt sad. He felt terribly, terribly stupid. He would’ve given anything to be able to cry in that moment, since so much felt close to bursting inside him, but somewhere around his chest, there was a knot and nothing was coming out.

“Niall?”

Approaching him, her delicate feet making a secret swish in the soft grass, her velvet soft cheeks reflective in the stadium lights and her hair glossy and free-flowing, was Eleanor. Her doe eyes were tired but happy and she smiled when he turned his attention on her. “Congratulations. You were wonderful in the game tonight – really, you should be proud of yourself. I was very impressed.” Niall didn’t have the grace to answer her and seeing Niall’s uncommonly stony face, bumbled on, “Have you seen Louis?”

He wasn’t thinking about the query; he was wondering what was wrong with the both of them that they could be so suckered and bamboozled and offer no retaliation but thanks.

“Niall? Parker said he wasn’t in the locker room. Have you seen him?”

“He’s in the girls’.”

“What?”

“Girls’ locker room.”

“Oh,” she said, uncertain whether or not he was joking. When Niall didn’t break into a smile, in fact, when his face didn’t change from anything other than a blank stare, she finally believed him.

“Thanks,” she said, which made Niall wince.

She made to trot past him but Niall reached out and grabbed her arm. He could feel how fine and delicate the bones were underneath such long and graceful muscles and how her natural instinct was to not resist the somewhat harsh treatment.

“Are you alright?” she asked, when Niall stayed silent. “Did something happen?”

He risked a glance at her; god, if she didn’t have the eyes of a holy cow.

“Did you enjoy the game tonight?”

“Yes,” she said, her face revealing how she was more concerned with understanding where he was coming from. “You were really impressive. You’re quite a hero.”

Niall let go of her wrist, but she didn’t leave. A gust of wind picked up and blew her hair into her face, some of it catching on the dew of her lip. He thought she might say something to him, something that would break him open from this emotional paralysis, but she only made it worse when she said, “Is Louis really in the girls’ locker room?”

“Yes.”

“Silly. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess? At homecoming?”

Niall nodded his affirmation mutely.

“Well, good. Good. We’ll have a lot of fun. I’m going to go find Louis.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Niall.”

She left him with a curious reluctance and immediately, Niall started moving in the other direction. He wanted put distance between himself and what was inevitably going to be a gory collision and which was undeniably of his own making. It occurred to him that perhaps a good person would feel guilty about sending an innocent to go discover the man she loved was a philandering orgiest, but that knot was hard and unyielding in his chest and he only felt warmth at the thought that, in this, he soon wouldn’t be alone.

~*~

The next morning, lying under the covers as he was, Niall decided he would not be going to school. He heard his parents emerge, the soft sounds of them talking their way through menial morning tasks. He heard them move to the kitchen as his mother made breakfast and his father watched the morning news. He had never known what his parents did after he left for school, the same way his parents never knew what he did in the early hours before he started his own day. With a twinge of resignation, he realized they didn’t even know he was still in the house; he wondered if they would’ve cared if they did.

Even after they left, Niall stayed in bed, trying to anesthetize himself with sleep. It was around noon he woke up with no appetite to speak of and an agitated body that was desperate to get out of bed. It occurred to him that perhaps he should look at his phone to see if he had missed any calls or texts, but he felt very firmly that this day would best be spent unplugged from anything concerning Jefferson Valley High. He made himself shower and dress, although he had no reason to. He sat at his desk and pulled his notebook out of his backpack. Looking at its green cover, Niall felt revolted by what he knew he would find inside and was therefore disinclined to open it, despite the crucible that was about to explode in his chest unless it was relieved.

Some external genius took him then, compelling him to open his laptop and open the Skype program. He wasn’t thinking about what he was doing, or what he planned to say, he simply allowed his body to go through the mechanics.

It took three rings before the call was answered.

“Niall! What a nice surprise!”

The sight of his brother’s smiling face nearly undid Niall right then, but he managed to keep it together.

“Hey, Greg! It’s not too late, is it?”

“Not at all! What time is it over there?”

“It’s um… It’s about noon.”

“And it’s Friday over there?”

That got a soft laugh out of Niall. “Yep.”

Greg gave this some consideration, “And you do go to school on Fridays in America, don’t you?”

“Generally, yes.”

“You see why I’m confused.”

“I needed a day off. Things have gotten a little intense over here.”

“Have they?” Then a lightbulb went off in Greg’s mind that made his entire face light up. “You had your first footie match, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Niall felt himself start to blush.

“How was it? You win?”

“Yeah,” Niall said, relaxing with the pleasure of recounting such good news.

“Well, that’s great! That’s great! Tell me all about it! You score?”

“Yeah.” Niall became brighter.

“Blimey! Good for you! God, I wish I’d been there to see it!”

“Me too,” Niall said, and proceeded to launch into a lively retelling so vividly and with such animation that this was surely the next best thing to having seen it live. He started with the story of how Harry had burned their uniforms (and felt an odd relief in saying Harry’s name and introducing him as a character into his brother’s world, even if it was through such an unsavory anecdote). He told him about how he’d worn the very kit Greg had gifted to him to assume the mantle of team mascot and how triumphant it made him feel. He recounted the intricacies of the game, the hard hits, the fouls, the rivalries, and especially, his goal and his assist. Greg was laughing and clapping, cheering in his flat as if he was at the game and Niall felt his cheeks go pink with delight.

“I wish you were there,” Niall said, for perhaps the hundredth time in ten minutes. “By God, I wish you were there.”

“I wish I was, too,” Greg repeated, this time looking terribly sad that he wasn’t. In fact, he looked exceptionally sad, the same micro-frown that Greg had accused Niall of exhibiting displayed openly on his own face.

“Maybe you could come visit?” Niall asked, guessing at a remedy for a guessed diagnosis.

“I would love to, mate, as soon as I can, I would—“ He went silent, and Niall became concerned. Greg wasn’t the type to leave off sentences or stare into space.

“Are you alright?” Niall asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.” But there was more of that staring and awkward silence that was making Niall very anxious. Then, with the straightforward boldness that was characteristic of him, Greg looked back at the screen and said, “Except that I’m not. Something’s not right, Niall.”

“What?”

“I’m not where I’m supposed to be. I’m not happy. Every day I spend here, the more certain I become that I don’t want to be in London, I don’t want to be a computer engineer, and I’m not happy at university. These are just facts, Niall, that’s what they are. And I know something must be done about it. I miss you, I miss ma and da, and I miss Ireland. I just don’t know how I’m going to tell everyone else. Niall, I don’t know how to tell our parents.”

Niall was absolutely stunned to silence. For a moment, he wasn’t certain who he was sitting across from, here. Greg’s path had always been apparent to all of them, even from the beginning. He was the success of the family, he was going to complete and excel at university, find a beautiful bombshell of a wife, have a vibrant, robust family that would be the pride of Mullingar. But from what he was hearing, it sounded as if Greg wanted to derail that plan before he was even past the first hurdle.

“What—What?”

His brother seemed to deflate, which was even more uncanny. “I’m not happy, Niall. I don’t know why I’m here. I hate computer science. Why did I ever go into computer science? Because my da wanted me to, that’s why. I never wanted to. I liked to play video games, but that doesn’t mean my heart’s in computers.” He sighed hard, scowling at something in the lower left of his screen. “I don’t know where my heart is. I’ve been too busy letting our parents dictate my life that I don’t even know what my heart wants. I’m sad it took me this long to realize that.”

Niall just stared. Something in his mind had broken. There was a rule that felt as real and as unyielding as an iron cage that Greg was the perfect, un-rebellious child who never questioned the golden and inviolable path of his life; now all that metal was snapping like matchsticks. In just a few seconds, the entire world looked different. The future and the past looked different.

“What are you going to do?” Niall asked, breathless.

“I don’t know,” Greg said simply. “Torey – she’s really keeping me afloat right now. I’ve never had a girl like her before, you know?” he smiled, clearly comforted in just talking about her. “It’s funny; all my other girlfriends, I never really knew them. We never connected very deeply. We never spoke about meaningful stuff or truly understood each other. I think I just dated them to impress da,” he said, honestly. “I can tell Torey doesn’t impress him very much. That really bothered me after they met the first time, because I could tell. And Torey was actually willing to talk to me about it. She’s the first person to ever talk to me about it. That was when it all started making sense; in talking to Torey.” His face went soft and dreamy and when he looked back at Niall, he said pointedly, “Find a good woman, Niall. Find one who listens to you and treats you right. Above everything else, look for that.”

Niall was still staring gormlessly at the screen. “Alright.”

“You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I’m just surprised I guess. I never thought I’d hear you say anything like this.”

“I know. It hasn’t been easy. I think I’m going to have to drop out.”

“I guess you are.”

“And I have to get out of the city. I’ve spoken with Torey, she’s willing to come with me. Her father is planning new construction projects up inthe country. I know he’d give me work.”

Niall just nodded.

“Are you disappointed in me, Niall?” he asked softly. “Have I let you down?”

“No,” the younger man assured immediately. “No, you haven’t! You haven’t at all! I’m… If anything, I’m proud of you. No, really. I’m really, truly proud of you.”

It was true and the sincerity of it brought tears, expertly fought down, to his brother’s eyes.

“Thanks, mate,” his brother said softly. “Thanks.” He gave a snort. “I can’t tell you how scared I was to tell you. I know that you look up to me a little bit and I only want to be the best for you. You matter more to me than ma and da even, so… thanks.”

Niall nodded and said, his voice low, “You know you can tell me anything. I’ll always love you, right?”

“I’ll always love you, too.”

A pause.

“Greg?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gay.”

For a few seconds, the only sounds were the soft squeaks and clicks as Greg shifted in his office chair. “Gay?”

“Yeah. I’m attracted to boys.”

“Right,” Greg said, measured.

“I’ve had sex with one. And… I have a—a thing with another.”

Greg was silent.

“Have I disappointed you?” Niall asked.

“No,” Greg said, frowning. “No, you haven’t. I’m just—I mean, I knew you were, that you were…” He struggled to find the right adjective, leaving Niall ample time to imagine the worst possible conclusion. “Shy,” Greg said finally. “I just thought that was all it was, though, shyness.”

“I am shy,” Niall admitted.

“Yeah, you are,” Greg smiled softly.

The two brothers stared at each other for a long moment, before Greg’s countenance seemed to melt away and his inner warmth, the warmth that defined him, showed through. It was only now that Niall realized it had been missing.

“No, I’m not disappointed that you’re gay, Niall,” he said, his smile becoming broader and more radiant. “It’s… It’s wonderful. You’re being you. Fuck,” he exclaimed, “Fuck, I’m so fucking glad you’re being you!” He laughed and rubbed at his face. “I’m sorry if I ever gave you the idea that that wasn’t alright. I ask you about girls all the time, fuck, I feel a right twat now!”

“It’s alright,” Niall said, releasing his tension in great gouts of laughter that his brother joined with.

“So, what are they like?” Greg asked, “These boys you fool about with?”

Niall’s merriment cooled as the images of Louis and Harry arose in his mind’s eye. “One of them I hurt very, very badly,” he said soberly, “and the other one… The other one’s behavior is… questionable.”

Greg studied him a moment, not knowing what to make of that. “Are these… I mean, is this serious, with either of them, or—“

“I don’t know,” Niall interrupted, trying not to sound like he was frustrated with his brother when he was rather entirely frustrated by his own confusion. He could feel that Greg wasn’t as natural discussing Niall’s foray into the world of dating men the way he was when yammering about birds with his mates. As painful and awkward as that was, Niall was relieved to have anyone to talk to about it at all.

“Do you want it to be?” Then Greg scoffed, apparently equally aware and confounded by his own culture shock. He threw up his hands a little bit, disappointed in himself. “Sorry, mate, I don’t even know where you stand on any of that. I guess this is the first we’ve ever talked about it at all, huh?”

Niall’s mouth went squiggly. “I guess you know why I’ve—I’ve never contributed to those conversations.”

“Aw, fuck, Niall, I’m so sorry—“

“—it’s not your fault. I’m not angry at you.”

“Fat lot of good I’ve been as an older brother, eh?”

“We’re talking, now.”

Greg shook himself from the web of regret that was swaddling him and he nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, we are.” He smiled and his eyes left Niall for a moment, no doubt to concentrate on the same marvelous warmth that Niall felt awakening in him. “So, let’s hear it,” he said, his voice soft but enthusiastic.

“I want,” Niall bit at his sports-chapped, flaking lips as he picked his words carefully. “I want a boyfriend. I want to trust someone. I want…” having written about it so frequently in his journal, Niall couldn’t even blush at the word anymore, “love.”

The look on his brother’s face denoted such humbling pride that Niall almost clicked ‘PrintScreen’, so he could keep it.

“Do you think either of these boys could be that for you?”

Niall considered. The question baited his mind down so many different avenues, he had to simplify his thoughts and start at the beginning. “Let me tell you everything…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think Niall would tell his brother?? He's in love with Louis? He overlooked Harry? He regrets sleeping with Harry? He regrets falling for Louis? 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think :)
> 
> Also -- Homecoming predictions?!


	23. Iron Feathers

Filled from the crown to the toe top-full of brotherly advice and support, Niall spent the rest of the afternoon cycling through emotions with the regularity of the clock. One hour, he would be so buoyed by intense lightness and freedom of spirit; the next, a loud knocking of dread hammered at his ribs of what might happen to those that had exposed the deepest, dirtiest part of themselves. The next instant, he had courage and convinced himself it was time for the world to know him truly; the next instant, he had convinced himself that only death or a monastery were fit to receive him.

There was one thing in particular Greg had said to him, one firm direction that had lodged in Niall’s brain and his consciousness worried that collection of syllables like a rat terrier would a smelly old sock.

_If you love someone…_ The sound of Greg’s voice rang through his mind with the all-hail and persistence of a clock tower chiming the hour.

Yet, despite this, he had the clarity of mind to bike to the nearest King Soopers, and pluck up the least withered of the picked-over corsage offerings. He even had the present awareness necessary to recall that Holly told him she would be wearing pink and used what little fashion sense he had to pick out a complimentary rose. Remarkably, he even stopped playing FIFA and got ready for the dance in time to not feel rushed. During the entirety of his punctuality, however, his emotions turned on the wheel and his thoughts worried on one subject alone.

_If you love someone…_

In the bathroom, he reached for his styling gel to make his hair tousled and spiky how he liked it and in so doing, he upset the glass shelf where he stored his various toiletries. This resulted in a small clatter in the sink. Investigating, Niall saw a tooth – a molar, the root of it still bloody, despite Niall’s many google-informed attempts to clean it. He picked it up, examining it between his fingers to appreciate the smooth enamel. He closed it in his fist and felt it bite against the soft flesh of his palm.

Upon the shelf where the tooth had been, now very shrunken and dusty, was a bouquet of dandelions, tied together with a broken shoelace. This was also fully explored and, very gently, Niall plucked one of the best preserved flowers from the bunch and delicately tucked it into the buttonhole of his jacket. It did wonders for his ensemble. He was in a grey suit jacket and jeans, and his white, untucked button-down underneath had a very cavalier vine and flecks pattern that screamed, “This may be homecoming, but I can’t be bothered.” He didn’t even wear a tie. What really pulled it all together was that dandelion.

*

Holly Baker was a prattler, Niall learned, as she drove them to the dance together. Exacerbating this condition was her obvious and disproportionate case of nerves. So eager was she to make him like her that she gobbled up every moment of silence in anecdotes that someone at one time or another may have once found charming. When cutesy quips failed her, she resorted to recounting her favorite highlights from the previous night’s game, lavishing genuine, if not clumsy, appreciation on her date. Niall didn’t mind. He treated her like he would a radio: a gentle, unobtrusive distraction that kept him from spiraling too deeply into his own thoughts and the shy, sincere praise kept him from becoming prickly.

They had done up the local community center with streamers, balloons and signs made by the student council committee with an eye for welcoming the athletes who, again, made them “#1!!!!” Holly had been kind enough to pick him up in her candy-shell Toyota Yaris, but Niall suspected the reason she had parked so far away from the building was because she didn’t want her girlfriends to see that her date wasn’t escorting her in a show of fairytale gallantry.

“So, anyway,” Holly chatted as they traversed the parking lot, her voice bright and rounded in a way that suggested she was cut of the most excellent mother material, “we decided to put all of my grandmother’s paintings in a coffee table book for my mother’s birthday this year! You can do that online; isn’t that cool?”

Niall’s affirmative that it was, in fact, very cool was lost in the loud thump of music that was coming from the community center. They both smiled at each other when they felt the way the bass made the very pavement vibrate and tickle their feet.

Inside, it became apparent that the school’s administration had seen enough music videos to know they should turn the lights low, hang some disco balls, and shoot variously colored lights at it. There was a stage at the far end of the large hall where Fine Sideburns, the school band, was doing their best to hype the crowd. The crowd seemed more interested in standing in groups, laughing, chatting, gossiping, and sculpting duck-faces for selfies. For as large as the community center was, it almost wasn’t large enough to accommodate what looked like the entirety of Jefferson Valley High, freshman to senior, all staff included.

Immediately spotted, not to be ignored, was Natalie Plympton, her chocolately skin shone to perfection in a dress more suited for Oscar red carpets than small-town school dances. She was surrounded by her posse, standing at the head of the hall as if she was patiently waiting for someone to hand her the damn Homecoming Queen crown already.

“I heard she came in a limo,” Holly supplied self-consciously, clearly noticing how Niall was noticing Natalie. Niall almost laughed at the thought of her being jealous, but tonight gentlemanliness was a high priority.

“Can I get you some punch?” he asked, and felt very much like he needed to see the room and get some dance floor under him. Luckily, Holly simultaneously spotted a group of her girlfriends and waved at them animatedly while chirping to Niall, “Yes, thank you! I’ll be over there with Morgan and Celery! Neither of them could get dates, so they came here together. They aren’t lesbos or anything, but they couldn’t find boys. Aren’t they cute? Who wouldn’t ask them? They’re so cute!”

Niall couldn’t deny that Morgan and Celery, both of them happy amongst themselves, looked perhaps the most companionable of those assembled. Holly gave him a longing, eager expression, almost like she wanted to be kissed, but got a hold of herself and scampered over to her friends.

Released, Niall turned to the throng and after only a moment’s wading, spotted John in an ill-fitting suit, standing with Ed, in a worse fitting suit, staring at a girl from the swim team and no doubt trying to figure out how to ask her to dance.

“I think you just say, ‘Would you like to dance?’ and then wait for an answer,” he supplied helpfully, by way of introduction.

When they saw Niall, the two boys left off their scheming and welcomed him with cheers and American hugs.

“There’s our MVP!”

“Niall the Kicker of Winning Goalness!”

“Casual,” Ed said, checking out his friend’s vestments. “Nice.”

John rumpled his hair, making him look even more ragamuffin. “Look who’s too cool for this shit,” he said. “Where’s Holly?”

Niall nodded to where she was huddled with her girls, the satin of her pink dress reflecting the perfect curves and planes of her diminutive form.

“Fuck me, she’s hot,” Ed blurted compulsively, loud enough to be heard over the thumping of the band. John’s hands came up between them to keep the peace and it took Niall a second to realize that perhaps he was supposed to fly into a jealous rage.

“Whoa!” John said, “I think we have enough bros-lusting-after-other-bros’-girls on the team, already!” As Ed reminded him he was not in fact on the team this year and John replied with a once-is-forever sentiment, Niall puzzled over what lusting John could be referring to.

“It’s cool,” he said, trying to keep up.

“She looks very nice,” John said diplomatically; then, less so, he added, “Betcha she’s a sure thing, too. You’re set tonight, man.”

“Um, I don’t think so,” Niall replied.

“Why not?”

In a brief fantasy, Niall saw himself saying with an attitude so casual it matched his outfit, “’Cause I’m gay.” But his unease of even having told his brother resurfaced again and he found himself making noises, none of which formulated proper words. John interrupted the stammering with a few hearty pats to the back.

“We know, we know,” he said, “You’re a gentleman.”

The word reminded Niall that he was to be retrieving punch like a proper provider. Without troubling with a formal farewell, he gravitated to the punch bowl and readied two cups. His hand fumbled on the handle when he saw another hand reaching for it. When he looked up, he was surprised to see Zayn standing there, equally awkward to find himself facing his old bestie.

“Oh, hey,” Niall offered.

“Hey,” Zayn returned.

“It’s good to – I mean, you look great. Really great.”

In fact, Zayn looked breathtaking. Saying so, however, didn’t seem appropriate. He was in a formal tux, incredibly well cut, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips. He wore a tasteful diamond in one ear and his glossy black hair was slicked back high on his head. Most astounding, most dream-hauntingly, however, was that Zayn’s perfect features shone in all their glory, unobscured by the obstacle of hipster glasses.

“Thanks,” Zayn said, checking his hair compulsively. “You look—“ he stalled, “terrible,” he concluded honestly. It made Niall bray with laughter.

“Thanks,” he said. “I saw you at the game last night. I wish you came to say hi.”

There was an awkward pause in which Niall was desperate to engage his old friend and in which Zayn was clearly trying to craft the neatest way to avoid him.

“Where’s Emily?” Niall asked, having just remembered who it was that Zayn had fought so hard to win. Zayn flinched, then took a moment to scan the room. He nodded to where the girl in question had leaned against the wall, shoulders wide in a subtle coquettish invitation that was being ravenously accepted by Luke Hoefler, who was canopied above her, beaming down on her like a beneficent moon.

“Oh. Shit.”

But Zayn simply shrugged and went about preparing two cups of punch. “She lost interest as soon as I asked if Hannah could tag along.”

“Hannah’s here?” Niall jumped on the news, his feathers afluff with happiness.

“Yeah,” Zayn said, his displeasure with Niall never more present and palpable; he stared directly at the smaller boy as if to make a point. “I didn’t want her sitting home alone tonight. Say hi to Holly for me.” With that, he gathered his punch and delved back into the mix. Niall eagerly followed his trajectory with his eyes, hoping to get a glimpse of his first friend. Once spotted, she truly stuck out like a sore thumb. She was in a print dress of red and pink roses against a black background, ruffles exploding at the shoulders and around her white-stockinged legs. She was no more handsome than she had ever been before, for all of her makeup that was too heavy and artlessly applied, but her hair fell around her shoulders in thick, glossy sheets and all her self-conscious idiosyncrasies were on display; in Niall’s eyes, she was truly lovely.

She wobbled anxiously in a clearing of prom-goers, experimentally flapping her hands in a half-hearted attempt at dancing, her eyes darting about in fear and curiosity as to who may be watching her. She visibly relaxed when Zayn returned bearing refreshments and Niall had never seen so mismatched a pair than the underdeveloped girl and the fairytale prince. He watched as Zayn chivalrously offered her his arm and she took it, her shy delight affecting her from the pink of her cheeks to the way she screwed her toes into the dance floor.

His fondness for them spurred him in their direction, but his way was thwarted by Holly, who was excitedly distressed. “Oh, my God, you have to help us! Kennedy Sherman is hitting on Morgan and, like, won’t leave us alone!”

Niall glanced back to where he had spotted his friends and the space was now occupied by Nadya and the floor-length denim dress she wore. Niall was tempted to stare, but Holly was tugging on his hand, bringing him to where, just as she had foreshadowed, Kennedy Sherman had his arm draped around the shoulder of a very disgruntled and somewhat spooked Morgan Pearly. Without thinking, Niall responded to Kennedy’s brotherly, “Yo, what’s up, my man?” with words he certainly never thought he would discharge against someone so much bigger than him in so public a space: “Fuck off, mate.”

Everyone was a bit shocked, not the least of whom was Kennedy, who readjusted his brown corduroy jacket and reached out with his free hand to pat down Niall’s lapel as if it had been rumpled. “Who, calm down, there, buddy!” Kennedy squawked. “No need to get jealous! You got your bitch and I got mine!”

Niall’s abrupt and unequivocal disagreement manifested in a shove in the chest that set Morgan free and staggered Kennedy back a few paces.

“What the fuck was that for?” Kennedy snapped when he had assured himself the danger of capsizing had passed.

“For being a perv. She didn’t want you on her, man.”

Kennedy’s mouth went loose as he purposed to launch into what would no doubt be an extremely upsetting and misguided attempt at defending himself, but Niall started at him, making everyone jump at the unexpected show of willingness to engage in physical violence. Kennedy shirked and that scummy smirk tightened into a grimace of fear. “Whoa! What’s your problem? You win one fucking soccer game and you think you can push people around?”

“You’ve had your jaw busted once before, mate, fuck off before it happens again!”

“Oh, is that what this is?” Kennedy sneered, finally finding his confidence and leaving Niall to fear he’d made a misstep. “You’re Tommo’s fucking henchman now, is that it?”

“Wh- no!”

“I wasn’t even the one that told Mr. Lunt he was cheating on tests, ok? He didn’t have to send fucking Styles to break my fucking face! What the fuck did the little pipsqueak tell you I did this time, huh? So fucking _unfair_!”

“What’s going on here, boys?” It was Ms. Faris, who hadn’t seen enough to warrant either of their evictions but enough to know a fight by the way a small circle of people had congregated around the two boys. Niall choked down the violence that wanted expression and wheezed out, “Nothing, ma’am.”

“My, you look hot tonight, Ms. Faris,” Kennedy simpered. “May I have the pleasure of a dance this evening?”

“No,” Ms. Faris replied with as much humor as allowance. “I don’t want a single fight tonight, is that clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the boys replied in unison.

“Good.” But before she left, she gave Niall a very pointed, unmistakable look as if to say, “Goeth not down that dark road,” and pointed to indicate that Kennedy needed to see himself to the far end of the civic center. The gangly nuisance did as directed, but not before he flung a nauseous wink at Morgan, a sight that turned the stomachs of all who beheld it.

“Oh, my God,” Holly said once he was out of sight, taking his hand reverently between her soft, manicured ones. “That was like every romantic comedy, ever.”

Morgan unlocked from where she had been in a half-cower the whole time and quite elbowed Holly out of the way to fling her arms around Niall’s neck and she said from the depths of her young soul, “Thank you.” Over her shoulder, he saw Celery looking on in star struck wonderment.

Greg had told him that to be himself and to speak his heart would bring him the life he deserved. Either the life he deserved was that of the quintessential straight male fantasy, or there was further speaking-of-the-heart that needed doing.

Niall hugged Morgan back, feeling the crinoline of her dress crinkle brittley. “Ladies,” he said as he released the grateful girl from his grip, “Please God, tell me one of you had the foresight to bring a flask.”

~*~

Daft punk was playing and Niall, drunk and dancing incompetently, found it very danceable. Holly was thankfully amused by his disorienting attempts at spinning her and the couples dancing around them were amiable despite the imminent threat of being knocked over. It was during Niall’s second abortive attempt at dipping his partner that he heard someone shout over the music, “Hey! He’s here!”

Niall put Holly firmly on her feet and immediately turned to look at the door to see who was gracing them with his presence. It was Louis, of course, ever so fashionably late, looking handsome and glowing, Eleanor matched in radiance by his side. The school went up in a cheer at the sight of the man who had brought their institution everlasting soccer renown. Louis cheered along with them as if to say, in all graciousness, ‘I couldn’t have done it without your support’. He was radiant, blinding.

_If you love someone…_

Louis descended with open arms into the throng, while Eleanor remained on the stairs, taking advantage of her vantage point to scan those present. When her eyes landed on Niall, his face open to hers and no doubt expressing intrigue, her body reacted with a subtle start, like standing water into which a stone was dropped. She took a sudden breath as if the accumulation of air could stop up the boiling emotions beneath. By this behavior, Niall knew that she had seen what he had seen last night, and by Louis behavior, Niall knew that the subject had not been broached between them. Guiltily, Niall tore his eyes away and suddenly felt desperate to flee from her sight, but he was obstructed by the arms of their common bond being flung around his neck.

With unencumbered joie de vivre, Louis cawed, “If it isn’t my right hand man!” The boy pulled back to get a look at him like an approving aunt. “You look hot, baby!” he surmised and Niall felt the warmth that could only be generated by dearly coveted approbation flood him, however much he doubted the veracity of the compliment.

“Your flower’s dead.” Louis moved swiftly as if to pluck the dandelion from his buttonhole, but Niall managed to get a hold of his wrist and say, “That’s my dandelion. Don’t touch it.”

Uncomfortable with the defiance, Louis snorted at him and turned instead to a much more sober and available Holly, who was clinging more tightly to Niall’s arm since Eleanor’s appearance.

“You look lovely, Holly,” Louis purred and despite all her shows of jealousy toward Niall, everyone present knew she’d sleep with Louis in a heartbeat.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she replied, playing smoothly into her own star struck stupefaction by enacting a perfect and charming Renaissance bow.

“So,” Louis said, bringing his face close to Niall’s, “Where’s the alcohol?”

“This is a high school celebration, Tommo, I don’t know what you’re—“

“You reek of whisky, Irishman.”

Caught, Niall smirked back at that impish face, wanting nothing more than to taste his lips. Louis’s pink tongue stroked over the seam of his mouth as if he was thinking the same thing, his eyelids heavy with their own sex appeal when he said, “C’mon, baby, hook me up.” The words fell against Niall’s jaw while Louis’ nose pressed into his cheek.

Helplessly, he nodded at Morgan who was even now, hiking up her skirt to get to the flask in her garter. Louis pinched Niall’s check and pulled him close one last time to say, “Save a dance for me,” before he pushed his way through a sea of admirers to the promised booze. Eleanor managed to meet up with him in time and protectively grab his hand so they wouldn’t get separated. Niall sucked in as much air as he could and let it out in one great unsettling ‘woof’ when Holly commented, “You’re staring again.”

~*~

Niall didn’t intentionally lose Holly. The way it came about was entirely innocent. The girl had to visit the restroom and when she told Niall to stay put, he didn’t. This allowed for an unencumbered perusal of the present goings-on without the distraction of indiscriminately having to agree with the opinions of a small young woman concerning the manner of dress of all her peers. When it came to the formal wear on display, Niall, particularly in his current state of inebriation, preferred to have no opinion whatsoever. He felt this most strongly when he caught sight of Liam, Eric, and Jared in conference around one of the big metal trash cans. Lubricated with alcohol and bolstered by a sur-par performance the night before, Niall walked right up to them and said, “Hey.”

Jared gave him a nod, but Liam and Eric actually said, “Hey,” back.

“So, who’s sore from last night?” Niall followed up gamely.

Jared snorted and burped, “Fag,” but Eric said, “I left school at lunch cause sitting in those chairs was making my back cramp up. I think there’s something wrong with my shoes.”

“You weren’t in school today at all,” Liam said, holding Niall in the corner of his eye.

“No—“

“Oh , fuck no,” Jared broke in, his attention directed to the far side of the room. “Fuck no, Kennedy Sherman is not dancing with my girl!” Then, like two wolves with the scent of blood in their nostrils, the boys took off with purpose, leaving Liam and Niall without so much as backwards glances.

After a moment’s awkward silence, Liam took one look at Niall, then at what was no doubt going to be a fight a short distance away and, preferring violence over Niall’s company, started in that direction.

“Hey, wait,” Niall took his arm, and despite Liam shaking free of him in an instant, he thwarted his departure. “Stay and talk to me a second, ok?”

“Why should I?”

“I have whiskey.”

Opening the left breast of his coat, Niall revealed Morgan’s flask, freshly refilled from the bottle she had hidden in her car in the parking lot. Liam’s body went perfectly straight as he periscoped his head around, looking for chaperones.

“Alright,” he said, huddling in close, “gimme that.”

Using his large, broad frame as his own cover, he slurped down the whiskey, swallowing it in glugs in a way that made Niall ill to watch him.

“So, ah—“ Niall started when he realized that as soon as the flask was empty, Liam would be gone, “Who’s your date?”

The center midfielder unhitched his mouth from the flask to stare at him. “ _That’s_ what you stopped me to ask about? My fucking date?”

“No,” Niall winced at the implication. “No, just—I thought maybe we—y’know, maybe we were friends, now.”

“We’re not friends,” Liam said and Niall could tell that so much alcohol on what was probably an empty stomach was making quick work of the bigger boy. “We’re never gonna be friends, alright? I got no reason to like you.”

“Well, we are teammates; that might be a reason to… like me.”

Liam finally stopped nursing the bottle and blinked around. Niall watched his face as it dawned on him that perhaps he’d overdone it a bit. “Well,” Liam slurred, reminding himself of the conversation at present. “I mean, you weren’t as shit as we all were expecting.”

He handed Niall the considerably lightened flask, straightening his suit jacket self-consciously.

Niall: “Thanks.”

Liam: “Your kick’s alright.”

Niall: “Thanks.”

Liam: “But you’ll never be… You’re not my friend. You’re not the type.”

Walking slowly, Liam leaned back against the far wall and reached up to pull at some low-hanging streamers like a cat batting at string. Cagey, Niall followed him, feeling like he was hunting a bear. Coming up alongside his prey at the wall, he ventured, “What type am I?”

“You’re one of those weirdos Louis picks up.”

The Fine Sideburns were getting tired of their failed efforts to hype the crowd. They brought a rousing cover of Roar to a close and, after a moment’s deliberation, took a different course of attack and tried for success with that old school dance chestnut, Sleepwalk by the Ventures.

Immediately, the entire hall became more drowsy, and Niall and Liam’s conversation suddenly became that much more intimate.

“What?” Niall leaned in, more curious than offended.

Liam shrugged, the corners of his mouth drawing down as if to meet his shoulders. “Louis likes to pick up local flavor. You know, like souvenirs. Then he gets bored with them and moves on. That’s what you are.”

Niall swallowed. “Like Harry?”

Liam scoffed again, a violent sound in itself. He looked uncomfortable and sort of rocked against the wall as if he was on a swaying boat. “What do you know about that?”

Niall licked his lips and scanned the grist briefly to ensure there was no one angling to interrupt them. “Not a lot. People have just mentioned things.”

“What? What have you heard?” When Niall took too long mentally compiling his various sources, Liam snapped, “What have you fucking heard?”

“I don’t know!” Niall snapped back. “Just… they were close or something and something with Kennedy Sherman and now you all beat on Harry when he gets near the field.”

This seemed to appease the other boy, who tucked his foot up against the wall to brace himself against his own swaying.

“Did,” Niall dared, “Harry shatter Kennedy’s face for Louis?”

“What the fuck do you think?”

“Um. Yeah. Because Kennedy told about Louis cheating in French.”

“Duh. Harry would’ve killed him if Louis’d wanted him to. And he was the only one stupid enough to do it. And,” he added after further consideration, “he wouldn’t have been missed if he went to jail.”

“Because,” Niall prodded, “Louis was done with him?”

“We all were.” Liam’s scowl was far too comfortable and well-worn for someone as young as he was.

“Why?”

“Because he was a fucking pervert. And he smelled funny. He started trying to hold Louis’ hand in the halls and touching his hair and stuff.”

Perhaps it was the libation he’d consumed, or the liberation of the powerful conversation with his brother, but Niall was primed for boldness when he blurted, “I heard he sucked your cock; I heard Harry Styles sucked your cock.”

Liam’s calm seas turned stormy in an instant and he lashed out, shoving Niall hard in the chest, pinning him back into the wall. “Who told you that?!”

“You don’t fucking push me around anym—“

“Who fucking told you that?” Liam barked again, ignoring Niall’s command and shoving him again.

“Louis, ok?” Niall squeaked when it felt like his lungs were going to collapse. “Louis told me!”

It was immediately understood between them that no greater authority could be invoked and, for the briefest instant, there was fear in Liam’s eyes. He looked around the hall to make sure there was no one eavesdropping before he pressed harder into Niall’s collarbone and hissed, “Look, if you close your eyes, he’s got hair like a girl, ok? I’d never gotten a blow job before and Louis…”

He trailed off, whetting Niall’s curiosity. “And Louis…?”

“Got him to give me one! Harry did whatever Louis told him to! But I’m not a fag, alright? I closed my eyes and imagined he was a fucking girl! And I’m telling you, you dare repeat that to anyone, I will fucking kill you, alright?”

For a moment, Niall was almost too stunned to know that was the cue to parrot “alright” right back, and nearly got his block knocked off. “Alright! Liam, alright!” Despite this open show of compliance and submission, Liam still kept him locked against the wall as if he was anticipating rebellion. Very slowly, wary of provoking this mad dog, Niall brought up his hands to show open, vulnerable palms. “I won’t tell anybody,” he confirmed again.

Liam was still glowering and unmovable and Niall wondered who he was seeing through such angry eyes, whose voice he was hearing through such angry ears. One thing was clear: none of what Liam was processing was of sweet, conciliatory Niall, because he bit with excessive vehemence, “I’m not a fag!”

“I know!”

“I’m not a fag!”

“I never said you were!”

“I’m not a fucking fag!”

“I believe you!”

“So why doesn’t my dad?”

Niall didn’t have a readymade answer for that. His jaw hung open as he sought the words that would diffuse this situation and he dearly regretted giving Liam all that alcohol.

“I do everything I fucking can! Every fucking thing! I get good fucking grades, I bang fucking scores of hot chicks, I got into fucking Harvard, and I’m gonna get MVP this year, too! I may not be fucking soccer captain, but I’m fucking good! And big! And manly!”

Being trapped against the wall as he was, Niall could attest to that.

“Your dad’s unreasonable,” Niall said, citing the recently-adopted Horan son motto.

An expression of shock and affront warped Liam’s features as if he couldn’t believe anything would say anything bad about his family. “What?” Almost anger in that, but Niall was standing well fitted in himself in his ill-fitting suit and yelled, so as to be heard over the music, so as to be heard unequivocally, “Your father is fucking unreasonable. I said fucking unreasonable,” he repeated with purpose.

It took a second for this to reach Liam’s brain and it seemed a coin toss as to whether Niall would be leaving tonight’s dance with his nose still properly attached. But then Liam inflated his great chest and flung his arms wide to bellow, “Fucking goddamned, motherfucking unreasonable!”

“Liam!” the mildly reproving but equally doting voice of Bartly reprimanded in passing.

“Sorry, Barts,” Liam saluted him. “Just talking about my father.”

But Bartly was ephemeral and Niall was still captive, so Liam turned back to him. “He is fucking unreasonable, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Niall stood by his earlier assertion, startled that the idea seemed new to Liam, as if he had never considered it before.

“Y’know,” Liam said, flopping onto his shoulder against the wall, so close that Niall could feel his whiskey-thick breath on his neck, “I’d usually pound your face in for saying something like that.”

His so saying made Niall almost choke himself on a guffaw. “I know, mate! Trust me, I fucking know!” He turned and looked into Liam’s face, so close to his own. What he saw there was the frank dissemination of a predator who knew he could travel into the very personal territory of someone close up, owing to that there was no negative or defensive repercussion that couldn’t be subdued by his superior strength. Despite being well aware of his physical inferiority, Niall dared trespass in the same way and likewise studied Liam. It was the briefest of instances in which they saw each other out from behind their battlements before the pair of them uniformly retreated, averting their eyes.

“So… we cool?” Niall asked, pushing his hands in his pocket and kicking his foot back against the wall like he was James Dean or something.

“Yeah, we’re cool. You, uh—You’re different from most of the guys around here, y’know? You are who you are. I respect that. I mean, I kind of resent you for it a little bit, but I respect that.”

“Maybe not a souvenir?”

Liam scoffed and pushed himself off the wall. Then, he slugged Niall’s shoulder in what was no doubt a gesture of brotherly bonding and said, “Yeah, maybe not. Catch you around.”

With that, he stumbled off to drape himself over a curvy girl in a slinky violet dress.

~*~

The five minutes of Sleepwalker concluded and in the resulting silence, Niall could see himself as he was: standing alone in a bad suit, against the darkest, loneliest wall in the room. This is not where Greg would have him standing. He reached into his coat pocket and was relieved to find that Liam hadn’t emptied his flask entirely. He tasted the other footballer’s mouth on the lip of it and after his fifth or sixth sip, he knew the alcohol was achieving the desired effect in the way that it made him wonder if kissing Liam would be as pleasant. As he sipped, he found himself circling the perimeter of the dance like a sheepdog keeping the flock in check. He saw Natalie Plympton swanning about, presenting to all that no matter who won the crown of homecoming royalty, she alone ruled this school. Occasionally, she caught his eye and would throw him a knowing wink or a cheeky grin as if they were in on something together. Niall would just nod or waggle his flask at her in drunken, if not indifferent, salute.

He watched the couples, the awkward flirting here, the easy touches there, and in response, Niall felt that yearning for what his brother had: a solid relationship built on love.

_If you love someone…_

Courageous emotions bubbled up in him in unpredictable, violent bursts. Both pleasant and unfortunate feelings took him in turn, running rampant like loosed zoo animals, made all the more visceral and potent by the loud thumping of an Imagine Dragons cover that the Sideburns were attempting. Envy, hopelessness, loneliness, regret, strange euphorias and despairing vistas all cycled through him so swiftly, his inebriated mind couldn’t focus enough to even be confused.

Things stilled for him the moment he glanced out across the dance floor and saw his two first, best friends, Zayn and Hannah, standing together in a beam of light. They looked as if they had made good on an intention to dance, but that endeavor had fallen away in favor of fine conversation. Hannah’s hand was on Zayn’s shoulder, Zayn’s on Hanna’s hip, and their other hands clasped and extended in a lazy teapot formation; but they didn’t move. Hannah was talking, giving her date a spirited shake on occasion when whatever topic was under discussion truly excited her and Zayn wore an expression of amused concentration as he struggled to hear her words over the desperately loud music. His only dance move seemed to be to lean over and put his ear near her mouth when she said something he didn’t quite catch.

Niall watched them, his heart still and his mind silent. They were a striking pair: Hannah, unable to be anyone other than exactly who she was and all the more beautiful and blessed for it; and Zayn, who Niall had to concede was probably the most handsome human he’d ever seen this side of a billboard, refining his attention to the least desirable person in the room, making him all the more beautiful and blessed for it. Together, they created a two-person paradise that was both safe from outside opposition and, within it, recklessly in love.

_If you love someone…_

Gripped with both alcohol and determination, Niall made his way into the heart of the crowd, no longer lurking in its peripheral. Several people saluted him, one of whom may have been Holly Baker, but Niall deflected them all, not stopping until he faced Louis Tomlinson, who was leaning back against one of the speakers, Eleanor tucked snuggly between his splayed legs. The perpetual fog of sycophants that clung to the pair were present, laughing about nothing and creating an artifice that suggested their present partying was much more flamboyant than it actually was. They parted when Niall approached and Eleanor, who had her eyes closed as if warding off a headache, opened them and smiled.

“Hey, Niall,” she said, and although her voice was low, it carried to his ears.

“What’s up?” Louis offered gamely, but Niall overrode the greeting with an urgent, “I need to talk to you.”

“Why?” Louis asked, clearly having had a bit to drink, himself. “Something wrong?”

“Please,” Niall insisted, trying not to sound too desperate. “I need to talk to you.”

The boy who held Niall’s fragile heart in his hands rolled his eyes a little bit and protested, “But I’m so comfy! Just talk here!”

“Go.” The girl on his lap lifted herself to her feet and made room for her boyfriend’s escape. When Louis gave her a supplicating whine, Eleanor doubled down. “No, go,” she said, leaving no room for argument. “When your friend needs you, you go.”

With the face of a boy who was just told there would be no weaseling out of summer school, Louis rose and said, “Alright, I have to take a piss anyway. Hold this, will you?” The beverage, whose alcohol content was making Niall’s eyebrows curl at five paces, was shoved into Eleanor’s hands and Louis wedged past him with a curt, “I’ll be right back,” leaving his two admirers to stand in suspense together.

Eleanor looked a little pink and dipped her head to sip back a bit of what was in Louis’ cup.

“Gin?”

“Tequila,” she corrected.

“Oh! Smells like gin.”

“You want some?”

“Ah, no, I’ve been hitting the whiskey a bit hard tonight, already…” Then his intentions for the upcoming conversation arose before him and he extended a hand, “Yeah, actually, give me a bit of that.”

The tequila was thicker than any beginning imbiber would dare. He winced and choked on it, then took another sip.

“Look, Niall,” Eleanor said, self-consciously stroking the wrinkles out of her skirt, “I… You’re—“

Niall looked at her inquisitively and saw her seraphim features contort in her struggle to speak. It made Niall devilish curious. “Go on,” he urged.

“Thank you,” she said with the same spread and violence of a shotgun blast. “For everything. For absolutely everything, I feel like you’re—You may be the only person in this entire school that—“ But she saw something, someone no doubt, over Niall’s shoulder and abandoned verbal communication altogether to dive into her clutch purse and rummage.

“Take this,” she said upon re-emerging and hastily stuffed a small triangle of paper into his hand. “Just promise me you won’t read it until tomorrow morning, ok? Promise me?”

The promise Niall was intending to make never met air, however, because Louis was upon them, draping his arm over Niall’s shoulder and slurring, “What’s that?”

“Oh, nothing—“ Niall replied, swiftly pocketing the note as if it was a shameful secret.

“Homework,” Eleanor replied for him and Louis immediately lost interest.

“Ok, what now?”

Niall had only enough spit to mutter, “Follow me.”

His heart was pounding like thunder in his chest, adrenaline flooding his brain and limbs. He made his way through the crowd, reaching back occasionally with his eyes or his hand to ensure Louis was still following him. Assured of his friend’s commitment, he led him to a hall that was cordoned off by green and navy streamers and marked “Do Not Enter” with a piece of purple construction paper and red, bubbly letters.

“Through here,” Niall said, tearing away one of the streamers and ducking under another to pass through the barrier. Looking back through the hole he made, he saw reticence on Louis’ face. “C’mon,” he urged.

“They’re going to announce prom royalty soon.”

“We won’t miss it,” Niall assured, making hail-mary promises. “This won’t take long. Please?”

Still skeptical, Louis considered it and with a long-suffering sigh, muttered, “Ok,” and ducked under the makeshift barrier.

Out-of-bounds turned out to be the first story lounge area of the community center and it lead them directly behind the stage. The lights were off, but the moonlight that came through the window was enough to distinguish the purple and teal sofas and the coffee bar against the wall. The Fine Sideburns had clearly used this room as their staging area, as their empty instrument cases and left over drum pieces were strewn across the short, bristly carpet. Concerned about their privacy, Niall approached the black door on the far side of the room and, thankfully before he opened it, realized it spilled onto the stage. Looking through the tiny window, he saw the Fine Sideburns themselves, putting their instruments away and clumsily clearing the stage for the homecoming royalty ceremony.

“Hey,” Louis said, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand. “What did you want to talk about?”

That certain sentence that had been bothering him all evening, that tidbit of advice offered by his brother that had made him restless, that had made him drunk, that had made him bold, trumpeted forth in his consciousness more loudly than it had before:

“ _If you love someone_ ,” his brother had said, “ _grab him by the lapels and just fuckin’ tell him_.”

At this moment, only one of those two commands was within Niall’s capabilities. The silver lapels of Louis’ shiny suit were bunched in Niall’s fists and he gathered him so tightly, Louis lost his footing, which made it all the easier to hoist him up onto the coffee bar and press devouringly passionate kisses into his mouth. Niall could feel the other boy go weak and pliant in his arms, his thighs opening and his lips softening in arousal.

_Grab him by the lapels and just--_

“Fuck, yeah,” Louis gasped into his mouth and Niall tasted the sweet tang of tequila on his tongue that made him go wild. Hope, nearly lost in the sobriety of the early evening, dawned anew when he felt Louis’ fingers grip into his hair, the nails dragging across his scalp so Louis could return those kisses just as fiercely as he was receiving them.

_Grab him by the lapels and just--_

Taking hold of the pockets of Louis’ fancy dress pants, Niall pulled his lover forward so he could feel the burning heat between the boy’s thighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Niall gasped, rubbing his tummy against the bulge that pressed against him there. Louis leaned back to grind his pelvis harder against him and groaned, “Yeah, that’s what you want, isn’t it, baby?”

_And just fucking--_

Niall took hold of that ultra-fashionable skinny tie that no doubt cost a month’s wages at a summer job and hauled Louis back against his lips, growling, “I want all of it. I want all of you.” He kissed and nibbled across Louis’ freshly shaved jaw and down his neck. “I want to make you mine.”

An uncomfortable scoff sounded in his ear and was followed by a notably sarcastic, “Taking a bit far, don’t you think?”

“No,” Niall said sternly, lifting his head from the heaven of Louis Tomlinson’s throat in order to meet his eyes.

_Just fucking tell him!_

“No, because I—What I mean is—“

Then, when an inexperienced AV guy turned on an amplifier and, no doubt holding the microphone right next to the damn thing, made an ear-piercing shriek slice through the whole building, “oh, fuck,” or the like was gasped by both boys as they split apart like jewel thieves with a light turned on them.

“Oh, sorry,” the voice of the sheepish buffoon resonated through the now-functioning microphone.

“Thank you, Mitch,” Ms. Faris’ laughing voice followed shortly thereafter. “At least you got everyone’s attention.”

“They’re going to announce homecoming court!” Louis said excitedly, pushing Niall away with his hips to dismount the cabinetry. On cue, Ms. Faris chirped into the loudspeaker, “It is now time to announce your Jefferson Valley High homecoming court!”

The cheer that produced came from something the size of which could be no less than the Persian Empire.

Louis was nearly out of his grasp, but Niall caught at him, whipping him back around forcefully. “Wait! I have to tell you something--!”

“Then just fucking say it!”

“Alright, everyone, calm down! Your homecoming court queen is—“

“I can’t! Not like this!” Niall said, watching his idealized scenario splintering apart like so much firewood.

“—Natalie Plympton!”

Both boys turned to the stage door. Then they looked at each other, silent in bewilderment as polite, dutiful clapping and cheering from the crowd came through the walls. In unison, the pair went to the door and peeked through the tall, narrow window there.

Natalie Plympton, as resplendent in her gown as she was phony in her pretense of surprise, ascended the steps to the stage, gasping and clapping as she had no doubt seen beauty pageant contestants do.

“What the fuck?” Louis spat, sprinkling the glass with froth. “There’s no way she beat El! What the hell is going on?”

“And your Jefferson Valley High School homecoming court king is—“

In the dramatic pause in which Ms. Faris opened her envelope, Louis was swinging wide the door, but whether it was to accept his crown or denounce the illegitimacy of the findings would forever be unknown, because Ms. Faris barked happily, “Niall Horan!” And the whole crowd went wild. Louis stopped dead in his tracks.

Niall was surprised to discover that he had actually followed Louis out onto the stage a little bit and even more surprised to see an entire graduating class pointing at him for Ms. Faris to see. Ms. Faris turned around and went up on her toes in surprise at finding the two boys behind her.

“Niall!” She laughed into the microphone as she extended a hand to him. Propelled by the undeniable force of societal expectations, Niall shuffled forward to his place, where Ms. Faris secured a hard plastic crown on his head that squeezed his temples and handed him a scepter that was clearly one of the track and field batons spray-painted gold.

From where he was on the stage, targeted by several unrelenting lights, he couldn’t make out details of the crowd. In the swarming black of it, Niall could see the reflection of someone’s glasses or a watch here or there, catch the movement of a sequined dress, but the rest of it was as murky and inhuman as the sea. That this mass was a human population was evidenced by the mad cheering that was rolling over him like waves battering a rock and for a moment, Niall’s breath caught at the wonder of it. For the first time in his life, he felt adored, welcomed, truly recognized and victorious. He wondered if this was how Greg felt when he accepted award after award, won accolade after accolade.

“Don’t disappear yet, Louis,” Ms. Faris’ warm honey voice sounded somewhere behind him. “We still have the lords and ladies of the court to announce! And you’re our first one! Louis Tomlinson, everybody!”

The crowd went wild and at hearing the love of his life named, Niall instinctively started clapping. His celebration was cut short by a slender, well-manicured hand taking hold of one of his. It was the hand of Natalie Plympton, whom Niall had quite forgotten was standing right beside him.

“Biggest upset this school has seen in years,” she whispered in his hear, her lips so close against him, they brushed the shell of his ear.

Niall, trained to smile in situations like these, did so as he turned to look at her, “Huh?”

“And the first lady of the homecoming court: Eleanor Calder!”

Niall retrieved his hand and clapped again, Natalie graciously deigning to clap as well. When Eleanor appeared in their island of light, her smile was present but neither fixed nor firm and it only became real when her eyes locked with Niall’s. She took a moment before going to her designated place to grasp his forearm in a delicate, loving gesture and whisper in his ear, “You deserve it. I voted for you.”

If her lack of acknowledgement of Natalie was noted by any, it was mentioned by none.

“Our second pair of homecoming nobility is Lord Dean Ross--!”

“You realize,” Natalie was at his other ear again, taking hold of his hands as if his applauding the accomplishments of his peers annoyed her, “we rule the school, now.”

“We do?”

“Yep,” she said, closing one blue and silver Cleopatra eye in a womanly wink. “And you have me to thank for it, hotstuff.”

“—And Lady Piper Hendry!”

The cheering was so thunderous and inebriated that Niall had to lean in until his nose was in her hair for her to hear the words, “How so?”

She returned in kind as she answered, “Just greased a few palms at the voting booths.”

“And there you have it, Jefferson Valley High! Your own Homecoming Court!”

As the black sea roared, the spell was broken. He looked into those reptilian, blue and silver lined eyes that were smiling up at him and realized they saw nothing of what was really there. In fact, as he stood before this swarming mass of his peers, he no longer felt their appreciation, but their willingness to let him be rewritten into their ideal. And then, he realized, he had the answer to his previous question: Yes, this was in fact, what his brother had felt. And this was why his brother had broken down on him last night, begging his baby brother to know who he truly was.

“Does our new royal couple have anything they’d like to say?”

The microphone was offered in their general direction and while Niall cocked his head at it like a dog might an odd-smelling shoe, Natalie took hold of it and rallied triumphantly, “First, I’d like to say thank you, Jefferson Valley High – you rock!”

The thesis statement was perfectly pitched to compel a self-congratulatory roar from the crowd that made Niall instinctively recede inside himself to his own thoughts. He heard very little of Natalie’s acceptance speech, something here about upholding school pride, something there, a poorly contrived sentence about the vagaries of awesomeness.

He came back to the world around him when the black mass before him was making a ruckus again and Natalie was pushing the microphone into his hand. When she saw the blank look on his face, she instructed, “Say something,” before taking the microphone back a moment to amp the crowd further with, “We make a good team, huh? Great couple!” The primarily female demographic agreed with shrieks.

Niall looked at the microphone in his hand. “Uh.” Then he smiled. “Thanks so much for accepting me into your school,” he said, unselfconscious now about the trippingly light, Irish ‘T’ sound in his thanks. It even got a few delighted giggles and coos from the crowd, something to which his time here had made him accustomed. “It’s hard, moving away from everything that’s familiar. No Nandos for miles. Playing football with your hands. Inflated drinking age.” He shrugged, “But you’ve all been brilliant, really. Made everything so easy. So, I just want to be honest with you—“

He paused. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself reaching out like a tiger, all claws, to rend the fallacious fabric he saw this moment attempting to knit before him. His peers, gathered in the black, awaited in hushed silence for him to continue.

“I’m gay.”

The two words rose like feathers but fell like iron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, you guys. I rewrote this four times. Four times. I completely scuttled the idea I was building towards and had to start from scratch. I'm so sorry it took me this long to hammer this thing out!!
> 
> WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN? Will Niall and Zannah be friends again? What was in Eleanor's note? Will Louis support Niall's decision? Will Liam still think Niall's ok? Where the hell is Harry?
> 
> YOU TELL ME
> 
> I love you all. Update as soon as I can :)


	24. Iron Feathers

“Because he was a fucking pervert. And he smelled funny. He started trying to hold Louis’ hand in the halls and touching his hair and stuff.”

Perhaps it was the libation he’d consumed, or the liberation of the powerful conversation with his brother, but Niall was primed for boldness when he blurted, “I heard he sucked your cock; I heard Harry Styles sucked your cock.”

Liam’s calm seas turned stormy in an instant and he lashed out, shoving Niall hard in the chest, pinning him back into the wall. “Who told you that?!”

“You don’t fucking push me around anym—“

“Who fucking told you that?” Liam barked again, ignoring Niall’s command and shoving him again.

“Louis, ok?” Niall squeaked when it felt like his lungs were going to collapse. “Louis told me!”

It was immediately understood between them that no greater authority could be invoked and, for the briefest instant, there was fear in Liam’s eyes. He looked around the hall to make sure there was no one eavesdropping before he pressed harder into Niall’s collarbone and hissed, “Look, if you close your eyes, he’s got hair like a girl, ok? I’d never gotten a blow job before and Louis…”

He trailed off, whetting Niall’s curiosity. “And Louis…?”

“Got him to give me one! Harry did whatever Louis told him to! But I’m not a fag, alright? I closed my eyes and imagined he was a fucking girl! And I’m telling you, you dare repeat that to anyone, I will fucking kill you, alright?”

For a moment, Niall was almost too stunned to know that was the cue to parrot “alright” right back, and nearly got his block knocked off. “Alright! Liam, alright!” Despite this open show of compliance and submission, Liam still kept him locked against the wall as if he was anticipating rebellion. Very slowly, wary of provoking this mad dog, Niall brought up his hands to show open, vulnerable palms. “I won’t tell anybody,” he confirmed again.

Liam was still glowering and unmovable and Niall wondered who he was seeing through such angry eyes, whose voice he was hearing through such angry ears. One thing was clear: none of what Liam was processing was of sweet, conciliatory Niall, because he bit with excessive vehemence, “I’m not a fag!”

“I know!”

“I’m not a fag!”

“I never said you were!”

“I’m not a fucking fag!”

“I believe you!”

“So why doesn’t my dad?”

Niall didn’t have a readymade answer for that. His jaw hung open as he sought the words that would diffuse this situation and he dearly regretted giving Liam all that alcohol.

“I do everything I fucking can! Every fucking thing! I get good fucking grades, I bang fucking scores of hot chicks, I got into fucking Harvard, and I’m gonna get MVP this year, too! I may not be fucking soccer captain, but I’m fucking good! And big! And manly!”

Being trapped against the wall as he was, Niall could attest to that.

“Your dad’s unreasonable,” Niall said, citing the recently-adopted Horan son motto.

An expression of shock and affront warped Liam’s features as if he couldn’t believe anything would say anything bad about his family. “What?” Almost anger in that, but Niall was standing well fitted in himself in his ill-fitting suit and yelled, so as to be heard over the music, so as to be heard unequivocally, “Your father is fucking unreasonable. I said fucking unreasonable,” he repeated with purpose.

It took a second for this to reach Liam’s brain and it seemed a coin toss as to whether Niall would be leaving tonight’s dance with his nose still properly attached. But then Liam inflated his great chest and flung his arms wide to bellow, “Fucking goddamned, motherfucking unreasonable!”

“Liam!” the mildly reproving but equally doting voice of Bartly reprimanded in passing.

“Sorry, Barts,” Liam saluted him. “Just talking about my father.”

But Bartly was ephemeral and Niall was still captive, so Liam turned back to him. “He is fucking unreasonable, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Niall stood by his earlier assertion, startled that the idea seemed new to Liam, as if he had never considered it before.

“Y’know,” Liam said, flopping onto his shoulder against the wall, so close that Niall could feel his whiskey-thick breath on his neck, “I’d usually pound your face in for saying something like that.”

His so saying made Niall almost choke himself on a guffaw. “I know, mate! Trust me, I fucking know!” He turned and looked into Liam’s face, so close to his own. What he saw there was the frank dissemination of a predator who knew he could travel into the very personal territory of someone close up, owing to that there was no negative or defensive repercussion that couldn’t be subdued by his superior strength. Despite being well aware of his physical inferiority, Niall dared trespass in the same way and likewise studied Liam. It was the briefest of instances in which they saw each other out from behind their battlements before the pair of them uniformly retreated, averting their eyes.

“So… we cool?” Niall asked, pushing his hands in his pocket and kicking his foot back against the wall like he was James Dean or something.

“Yeah, we’re cool. You, uh—You’re different from most of the guys around here, y’know? You are who you are. I respect that. I mean, I kind of resent you for it a little bit, but I respect that.”

“Maybe not a souvenir?”

Liam scoffed and pushed himself off the wall. Then, he slugged Niall’s shoulder in what was no doubt a gesture of brotherly bonding and said, “Yeah, maybe not. Catch you around.”

With that, he stumbled off to drape himself over a curvy girl in a slinky violet dress.

~*~

The five minutes of Sleepwalker concluded and in the resulting silence, Niall could see himself as he was: standing alone in a bad suit, against the darkest, loneliest wall in the room. This is not where Greg would have him standing. He reached into his coat pocket and was relieved to find that Liam hadn’t emptied his flask entirely. He tasted the other footballer’s mouth on the lip of it and after his fifth or sixth sip, he knew the alcohol was achieving the desired effect in the way that it made him wonder if kissing Liam would be as pleasant. As he sipped, he found himself circling the perimeter of the dance like a sheepdog keeping the flock in check. He saw Natalie Plympton swanning about, presenting to all that no matter who won the crown of homecoming royalty, she alone ruled this school. Occasionally, she caught his eye and would throw him a knowing wink or a cheeky grin as if they were in on something together. Niall would just nod or waggle his flask at her in drunken, if not indifferent, salute.

He watched the couples, the awkward flirting here, the easy touches there, and in response, Niall felt that yearning for what his brother had: a solid relationship built on love.

_If you love someone…_

Courageous emotions bubbled up in him in unpredictable, violent bursts. Both pleasant and unfortunate feelings took him in turn, running rampant like loosed zoo animals, made all the more visceral and potent by the loud thumping of an Imagine Dragons cover that the Sideburns were attempting. Envy, hopelessness, loneliness, regret, strange euphorias and despairing vistas all cycled through him so swiftly, his inebriated mind couldn’t focus enough to even be confused.

Things stilled for him the moment he glanced out across the dance floor and saw his two first, best friends, Zayn and Hannah, standing together in a beam of light. They looked as if they had made good on an intention to dance, but that endeavor had fallen away in favor of fine conversation. Hannah’s hand was on Zayn’s shoulder, Zayn’s on Hanna’s hip, and their other hands clasped and extended in a lazy teapot formation; but they didn’t move. Hannah was talking, giving her date a spirited shake on occasion when whatever topic was under discussion truly excited her and Zayn wore an expression of amused concentration as he struggled to hear her words over the desperately loud music. His only dance move seemed to be to lean over and put his ear near her mouth when she said something he didn’t quite catch.

Niall watched them, his heart still and his mind silent. They were a striking pair: Hannah, unable to be anyone other than exactly who she was and all the more beautiful and blessed for it; and Zayn, who Niall had to concede was probably the most handsome human he’d ever seen this side of a billboard, refining his attention to the least desirable person in the room, making him all the more beautiful and blessed for it. Together, they created a two-person paradise that was both safe from outside opposition and, within it, recklessly in love.

_If you love someone…_

Gripped with both alcohol and determination, Niall made his way into the heart of the crowd, no longer lurking in its peripheral. Several people saluted him, one of whom may have been Holly Baker, but Niall deflected them all, not stopping until he faced Louis Tomlinson, who was leaning back against one of the speakers, Eleanor tucked snuggly between his splayed legs. The perpetual fog of sycophants that clung to the pair were present, laughing about nothing and creating an artifice that suggested their present partying was much more flamboyant than it actually was. They parted when Niall approached and Eleanor, who had her eyes closed as if warding off a headache, opened them and smiled.

“Hey, Niall,” she said, and although her voice was low, it carried to his ears.

“What’s up?” Louis offered gamely, but Niall overrode the greeting with an urgent, “I need to talk to you.”

“Why?” Louis asked, clearly having had a bit to drink, himself. “Something wrong?”

“Please,” Niall insisted, trying not to sound too desperate. “I need to talk to you.”

The boy who held Niall’s fragile heart in his hands rolled his eyes a little bit and protested, “But I’m so comfy! Just talk here!”

“Go.” The girl on his lap lifted herself to her feet and made room for her boyfriend’s escape. When Louis gave her a supplicating whine, Eleanor doubled down. “No, go,” she said, leaving no room for argument. “When your friend needs you, you go.”

With the face of a boy who was just told there would be no weaseling out of summer school, Louis rose and said, “Alright, I have to take a piss anyway. Hold this, will you?” The beverage, whose alcohol content was making Niall’s eyebrows curl at five paces, was shoved into Eleanor’s hands and Louis wedged past him with a curt, “I’ll be right back,” leaving his two admirers to stand in suspense together.

Eleanor looked a little pink and dipped her head to sip back a bit of what was in Louis’ cup.

“Gin?”

“Tequila,” she corrected.

“Oh! Smells like gin.”

“You want some?”

“Ah, no, I’ve been hitting the whiskey a bit hard tonight, already…” Then his intentions for the upcoming conversation arose before him and he extended a hand, “Yeah, actually, give me a bit of that.”

The tequila was thicker than any beginning imbiber would dare. He winced and choked on it, then took another sip.

“Look, Niall,” Eleanor said, self-consciously stroking the wrinkles out of her skirt, “I… You’re—“

Niall looked at her inquisitively and saw her seraphim features contort in her struggle to speak. It made Niall devilish curious. “Go on,” he urged.

“Thank you,” she said with the same spread and violence of a shotgun blast. “For everything. For absolutely everything, I feel like you’re—You may be the only person in this entire school that—“ But she saw something, someone no doubt, over Niall’s shoulder and abandoned verbal communication altogether to dive into her clutch purse and rummage.

“Take this,” she said upon re-emerging and hastily stuffed a small triangle of paper into his hand. “Just promise me you won’t read it until tomorrow morning, ok? Promise me?”

The promise Niall was intending to make never met air, however, because Louis was upon them, draping his arm over Niall’s shoulder and slurring, “What’s that?”

“Oh, nothing—“ Niall replied, swiftly pocketing the note as if it was a shameful secret.

“Homework,” Eleanor replied for him and Louis immediately lost interest.

“Ok, what now?”

Niall had only enough spit to mutter, “Follow me.”

His heart was pounding like thunder in his chest, adrenaline flooding his brain and limbs. He made his way through the crowd, reaching back occasionally with his eyes or his hand to ensure Louis was still following him. Assured of his friend’s commitment, he led him to a hall that was cordoned off by green and navy streamers and marked “Do Not Enter” with a piece of purple construction paper and red, bubbly letters.

“Through here,” Niall said, tearing away one of the streamers and ducking under another to pass through the barrier. Looking back through the hole he made, he saw reticence on Louis’ face. “C’mon,” he urged.

“They’re going to announce prom royalty soon.”

“We won’t miss it,” Niall assured, making hail-mary promises. “This won’t take long. Please?”

Still skeptical, Louis considered it and with a long-suffering sigh, muttered, “Ok,” and ducked under the makeshift barrier.

Out-of-bounds turned out to be the first story lounge area of the community center and it lead them directly behind the stage. The lights were off, but the moonlight that came through the window was enough to distinguish the purple and teal sofas and the coffee bar against the wall. The Fine Sideburns had clearly used this room as their staging area, as their empty instrument cases and left over drum pieces were strewn across the short, bristly carpet. Concerned about their privacy, Niall approached the black door on the far side of the room and, thankfully before he opened it, realized it spilled onto the stage. Looking through the tiny window, he saw the Fine Sideburns themselves, putting their instruments away and clumsily clearing the stage for the homecoming royalty ceremony.

“Hey,” Louis said, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand. “What did you want to talk about?”

That certain sentence that had been bothering him all evening, that tidbit of advice offered by his brother that had made him restless, that had made him drunk, that had made him bold, trumpeted forth in his consciousness more loudly than it had before:

“ _If you love someone_ ,” his brother had said, “ _grab him by the lapels and just fuckin’ tell him_.”

At this moment, only one of those two commands was within Niall’s capabilities. The silver lapels of Louis’ shiny suit were bunched in Niall’s fists and he gathered him so tightly, Louis lost his footing, which made it all the easier to hoist him up onto the coffee bar and press devouringly passionate kisses into his mouth. Niall could feel the other boy go weak and pliant in his arms, his thighs opening and his lips softening in arousal.

_Grab him by the lapels and just--_

“Fuck, yeah,” Louis gasped into his mouth and Niall tasted the sweet tang of tequila on his tongue that made him go wild. Hope, nearly lost in the sobriety of the early evening, dawned anew when he felt Louis’ fingers grip into his hair, the nails dragging across his scalp so Louis could return those kisses just as fiercely as he was receiving them.

_Grab him by the lapels and just--_

Taking hold of the pockets of Louis’ fancy dress pants, Niall pulled his lover forward so he could feel the burning heat between the boy’s thighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Niall gasped, rubbing his tummy against the bulge that pressed against him there. Louis leaned back to grind his pelvis harder against him and groaned, “Yeah, that’s what you want, isn’t it, baby?”

_And just fucking--_

Niall took hold of that ultra-fashionable skinny tie that no doubt cost a month’s wages at a summer job and hauled Louis back against his lips, growling, “I want all of it. I want all of you.” He kissed and nibbled across Louis’ freshly shaved jaw and down his neck. “I want to make you mine.”

An uncomfortable scoff sounded in his ear and was followed by a notably sarcastic, “Taking a bit far, don’t you think?”

“No,” Niall said sternly, lifting his head from the heaven of Louis Tomlinson’s throat in order to meet his eyes.

_Just fucking tell him!_

“No, because I—What I mean is—“

Then, when an inexperienced AV guy turned on an amplifier and, no doubt holding the microphone right next to the damn thing, made an ear-piercing shriek slice through the whole building, “oh, fuck,” or the like was gasped by both boys as they split apart like jewel thieves with a light turned on them.

“Oh, sorry,” the voice of the sheepish buffoon resonated through the now-functioning microphone.

“Thank you, Mitch,” Ms. Faris’ laughing voice followed shortly thereafter. “At least you got everyone’s attention.”

“They’re going to announce homecoming court!” Louis said excitedly, pushing Niall away with his hips to dismount the cabinetry. On cue, Ms. Faris chirped into the loudspeaker, “It is now time to announce your Jefferson Valley High homecoming court!”

The cheer that produced came from something the size of which could be no less than the Persian Empire.

Louis was nearly out of his grasp, but Niall caught at him, whipping him back around forcefully. “Wait! I have to tell you something--!”

“Then just fucking say it!”

“Alright, everyone, calm down! Your homecoming court queen is—“

“I can’t! Not like this!” Niall said, watching his idealized scenario splintering apart like so much firewood.

“—Natalie Plympton!”

Both boys turned to the stage door. Then they looked at each other, silent in bewilderment as polite, dutiful clapping and cheering from the crowd came through the walls. In unison, the pair went to the door and peeked through the tall, narrow window there.

Natalie Plympton, as resplendent in her gown as she was phony in her pretense of surprise, ascended the steps to the stage, gasping and clapping as she had no doubt seen beauty pageant contestants do.

“What the fuck?” Louis spat, sprinkling the glass with froth. “There’s no way she beat El! What the hell is going on?”

“And your Jefferson Valley High School homecoming court king is—“

In the dramatic pause in which Ms. Faris opened her envelope, Louis was swinging wide the door, but whether it was to accept his crown or denounce the illegitimacy of the findings would forever be unknown, because Ms. Faris barked happily, “Niall Horan!” And the whole crowd went wild. Louis stopped dead in his tracks.

Niall was surprised to discover that he had actually followed Louis out onto the stage a little bit and even more surprised to see an entire graduating class pointing at him for Ms. Faris to see. Ms. Faris turned around and went up on her toes in surprise at finding the two boys behind her.

“Niall!” She laughed into the microphone as she extended a hand to him. Propelled by the undeniable force of societal expectations, Niall shuffled forward to his place, where Ms. Faris secured a hard plastic crown on his head that squeezed his temples and handed him a scepter that was clearly one of the track and field batons spray-painted gold.

From where he was on the stage, targeted by several unrelenting lights, he couldn’t make out details of the crowd. In the swarming black of it, Niall could see the reflection of someone’s glasses or a watch here or there, catch the movement of a sequined dress, but the rest of it was as murky and inhuman as the sea. That this mass was a human population was evidenced by the mad cheering that was rolling over him like waves battering a rock and for a moment, Niall’s breath caught at the wonder of it. For the first time in his life, he felt adored, welcomed, truly recognized and victorious. He wondered if this was how Greg felt when he accepted award after award, won accolade after accolade.

“Don’t disappear yet, Louis,” Ms. Faris’ warm honey voice sounded somewhere behind him. “We still have the lords and ladies of the court to announce! And you’re our first one! Louis Tomlinson, everybody!”

The crowd went wild and at hearing the love of his life named, Niall instinctively started clapping. His celebration was cut short by a slender, well-manicured hand taking hold of one of his. It was the hand of Natalie Plympton, whom Niall had quite forgotten was standing right beside him.

“Biggest upset this school has seen in years,” she whispered in his hear, her lips so close against him, they brushed the shell of his ear.

Niall, trained to smile in situations like these, did so as he turned to look at her, “Huh?”

“And the first lady of the homecoming court: Eleanor Calder!”

Niall retrieved his hand and clapped again, Natalie graciously deigning to clap as well. When Eleanor appeared in their island of light, her smile was present but neither fixed nor firm and it only became real when her eyes locked with Niall’s. She took a moment before going to her designated place to grasp his forearm in a delicate, loving gesture and whisper in his ear, “You deserve it. I voted for you.”

If her lack of acknowledgement of Natalie was noted by any, it was mentioned by none.

“Our second pair of homecoming nobility is Lord Dean Ross--!”

“You realize,” Natalie was at his other ear again, taking hold of his hands as if his applauding the accomplishments of his peers annoyed her, “we rule the school, now.”

“We do?”

“Yep,” she said, closing one blue and silver Cleopatra eye in a womanly wink. “And you have me to thank for it, hotstuff.”

“—And Lady Piper Hendry!”

The cheering was so thunderous and inebriated that Niall had to lean in until his nose was in her hair for her to hear the words, “How so?”

She returned in kind as she answered, “Just greased a few palms at the voting booths.”

“And there you have it, Jefferson Valley High! Your own Homecoming Court!”

As the black sea roared, the spell was broken. He looked into those reptilian, blue and silver lined eyes that were smiling up at him and realized they saw nothing of what was really there. In fact, as he stood before this swarming mass of his peers, he no longer felt their appreciation, but their willingness to let him be rewritten into their ideal. And then, he realized, he had the answer to his previous question: Yes, this was in fact, what his brother had felt. And this was why his brother had broken down on him last night, begging his baby brother to know who he truly was.

“Does our new royal couple have anything they’d like to say?”

The microphone was offered in their general direction and while Niall cocked his head at it like a dog might an odd-smelling shoe, Natalie took hold of it and rallied triumphantly, “First, I’d like to say thank you, Jefferson Valley High – you rock!”

The thesis statement was perfectly pitched to compel a self-congratulatory roar from the crowd that made Niall instinctively recede inside himself to his own thoughts. He heard very little of Natalie’s acceptance speech, something here about upholding school pride, something there, a poorly contrived sentence about the vagaries of awesomeness.

He came back to the world around him when the black mass before him was making a ruckus again and Natalie was pushing the microphone into his hand. When she saw the blank look on his face, she instructed, “Say something,” before taking the microphone back a moment to amp the crowd further with, “We make a good team, huh? Great couple!” The primarily female demographic agreed with shrieks.

Niall looked at the microphone in his hand. “Uh.” Then he smiled. “Thanks so much for accepting me into your school,” he said, unselfconscious now about the trippingly light, Irish ‘T’ sound in his thanks. It even got a few delighted giggles and coos from the crowd, something to which his time here had made him accustomed. “It’s hard, moving away from everything that’s familiar. No Nandos for miles. Playing football with your hands. Inflated drinking age.” He shrugged, “But you’ve all been brilliant, really. Made everything so easy. So, I just want to be honest with you—“

He paused. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself reaching out like a tiger, all claws, to rend the fallacious fabric he saw this moment attempting to knit before him. His peers, gathered in the black, awaited in hushed silence for him to continue.

“I’m gay.”

The two words rose like feathers but fell like iron.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, you guys. I rewrote this four times. Four times. I completely scuttled the idea I was building towards and had to start from scratch. I'm so sorry it took me this long to hammer this thing out!!
> 
> WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN? Will Niall and Zannah be friends again? What was in Eleanor's note? Will Louis support Niall's decision? Will Liam still think Niall's ok? Where the hell is Harry?
> 
> YOU TELL ME
> 
> I love you all. Update as soon as I can :)


	25. Chapter 25

In recounting the story to future generations, Niall would find that a great deal of what happened in the moments after he dropped the bomb at the Jefferson Valley High homecoming dance, much of the subsequent shifting and fracas would fall away and the element that would remain forever burned in his cells was one very specific sound: A sound that could be heard every time the opposing team scored, whenever an avatar was shot dead in Halo 3, whenever the leading runner tripped in a footrace: the particularly masculine noise of a large group of men roaring in deep-seated disgust, rage, and almost gleeful disappointment. It was a sound Niall had made before himself, but he never would’ve guessed the bone-chilling effect of having it directed at him.

Perhaps worse, though, was the sudden, pronounced plunge into the white noise of a crowd of people all falling into intense whispering, as if they weren’t all simply having hundreds of different conversations about the same thing. He was vaguely aware of Ms. Faris wrestling the microphone from him and trying to focus her charges; all of her attempts at so doing were lost and she fell helplessly to simply trying to clear the state and get the music back on.

He caught a glimpse of Natalie’s face. Her lips were in an animal sneer and the eyes that pinned him were those of an Indian blood goddess. She swept past him as if she could summon up a cutting wind with a swish of her dress.

The loudspeakers came on with a rousing Muse ballad and there was a flurry of movement that made Niall feel like his world was unraveling.

“Louis?” He immediately sought the boy amidst the mayhem, but only saw his back as he hurried for the stairs at the side of the stage that led back to the dance floor. “Louis!” Niall ran to catch up to him, but the other boy didn’t stop. Reaching for Louis’ sleeve, Niall’s fingers slipped on the shiny material before he got a good hold of the arm underneath. “Louis—“ But without even looking back, Louis wrenched his arm away and accompanied the gesture with a subsequent shove that made Niall stumble back a pace. “ _Louis_!”

He stood atop the steps as Louis descended them and was swallowed by a sea of his peers. Anders Blakely, Lacey Bhatnagar, and Rex Chambers in their finery, all looked up at Niall with the trademarked, superior expression of Youth Knowing They’d Just Witnessed Someone Embarrass Themselves. Such a reception made any sort of pursuit feel like suicide and Niall turned and fled through the stage door from which he’d emerged.

Only in the silence of the empty equipment room did he realize he was panting. It was dark and still and he knew he was safe for the moment. His drunken mind was racing, incapable of formulating either a clear understanding of what exactly he’d done or a plan of action.

A hard-shelled, upright bass case served as an ideal sitting place as Niall willed his mind to slow and his breathing to even out. After a few minutes, there was the sound of stragglers on the far side of the wall and he heard the words, “…see Holly’s face? I think she probably threw up…” The voices faded, but Niall had heard enough to feel sick, himself.

Unable to face the dread rising in him, he pulled his phone from his pocket and sought distraction. There was a text from an unexpected source: ‘Where are you?’ from Zayn, two minutes ago. Niall almost laughed and ran his hand over his face, surprised to find it very sweaty. He wiped the wet on his trousers before typing back, ‘behind the stage’. He gripped the phone in his fist and dabbed at his face with his sleeve as he awaited the reply. It took less than a minute for it to come in: ‘meet us at the rear parking lot’.

Niall had no idea of the whereabouts of the rear parking lot, but he was willing to fling himself in the general direction and take it from there. He stumbled out into a loading entrance where a handful of stoners, Nadia among them, were passing a particularly skunky joint.

“Hey, Niall,” Nadia said, clearly surprised at his sudden appearance in their midst. A few of her company were better prepared, however.

“Hey, Niall,” Ty Jennings brayed at him, “you know, if you need to suck a cock, I have one. Just saying—“

“Ty! Fuck’s sake!” Nadja hissed, but Niall didn’t stop. In fact, he moved faster, relieved when he saw his friends standing underneath a streetlamp in the wide, black expanse of the rear parking lot, next to Zayn’s cherry red Jaguar. He hurried to them and, sensing the movement, they turned to him.

The past few weeks fell away the moment they all faced one another and Hannah flung her arms wide and there he happily landed. “Oh, Niall!” she said, her voice muffled against his coat, her hair catching on his dried flower. He pushed his nose into her thick, glossy mane and closed his eyes.

One of the side doors opened and a handful of invigorated students spilled noisily forth. He reacted like a hunted fox, his body tensing and his head going up to sense the danger. In the back of his mind, a voice was going off, saying he was overreacting, but it was disproved at once when Zayn said, “Get in the car,” and swiftly went about unlocking the iconic machine.

They all hurried onto the bench seat and when Niall had looked up from buckling his seatbelt, he saw the handful of kids, Liam, Carey, and Jared among them, jog into the parking lot, searching intently.

“Where’s the faggot?” Carey screamed into the dark.

As if in answer, Zayn started the engine and peeled out. Niall again wished he wasn’t so damn drunk. They wheeled around the parking lot, the small gathering of hecklers only having opportunity enough to scream obscenities and kick rocks as the Jaguar passed.

Niall was between Zayn at the wheel and Hannah to his right and it was only when Hannah put her hand on his arm he realized he was trembling.

“Looks like it’s back to this, again,” he huffed, trying to make a joke.

“Dude, you…” Zayn shook his head, “You just set that shit on fire! I mean, you beat it dead, kicked it, shot it a few times and _then_ set it on fire.”

“… What?”

“We’re so proud of you, Niall.” Hannah squeezed his arm and he covered her hand with his.

“Thanks,” Niall said. “I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Zayn asked. “I mean, I thought we were friends!”

“I didn’t think it was that important—“

“Then why’d you tell the whole school at the fucking crowning ceremony?”

“Zayn,” Hannah softly reprimanded.

Niall rubbed the heels of his hands into the sockets of his eyes. “What happened out there? When I said it?”

“Didn’t you hear? The room went _crazy_ \--!”

“I said ‘holy shit’,” Zayn supplied. “It was pretty epic, Niall. It’s gonna be all over the internet tomorrow.”

“The internet?”

“Tons of kids had their phones out.”

The weight of a future where the documentation of perhaps his greatest humiliation would forever be made available to whosoever cared to view it was almost too much to bear.

“Didn’t anyone have my back?”

“We did!”

“We _do!_ ” Hannah insisted. “And a few other people were totally behind you; a lot of girls—“

“—And Mr. Lunt—“

“—and the theater kids. The only people who were really appalled were, y’know, the jocks—“

“—and Natalie Plympton—“

“—oh, my god, yes! Natalie Plympton!”

“Worth it for the look on her face alone.”

“I don’t think Holly Baker is your biggest fan, though—“

“Prepare to find a boiled bunny in the next week or so.”

For as idyll and gossipy as the content of their talk was, the rhythm and familiarity of it soothed Niall’s frazzled nerves. “So,” he said, under the precious sound of his two best friends giggling over a stupid joke, “you two want to be my friends again?”

There was a silence in which Zayn and Hannah shared a look.

Hannah spoke deliberately. “I think the things that didn’t make sense and were upsetting to us before, make a lot more sense in light of recent… revelations.” The response was so vague and political, Niall wasn’t sure he understood it. Sensing his confusion, Hannah drove at the pith: “You’re in love with Louis Tomlinson, aren’t you? That’s why you did all that mean stuff.”

Niall felt his cheeks go red alert and the back of his neck go panicky. He couldn’t speak, so he nodded affirmatively at her until a sound knocked loose, “Uh-huh.”

“What were you doing with him behind the stage, man?” Zayn asked, wheeling around a corner as if they were still being pursued.

“We were, we were talking, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I was going to tell him, then.” Niall bit his bottom lip between his teeth and felt as if the lower half of his lungs weren’t working properly. When he tried to such air deeper, a choked sob came out.

“Oh, Niall.”

“Bud.”

They both took hold of a hand each, a united front flanking him in a show of uncompromising support and comradery.

“We’re here for you, Ni,” Zayn assured him. “Of course we’re gonna be your friends again.”

“Thanks,” Niall returned. “I have a feeling I’m really going to need you.”

~*~

He had two days to agonize over his fate. He spent a good five hours of those two days sobering up in his bed, trying to hide from his parents and escape a chiding. This was easy enough, since he only encountered his mother once during the entirety of the day, when he was in the kitchen making a second cheese and bacon omelet.

“How was the dance?” Maura asked, her attention on the new Apple watch she’d treated herself to.

“Good; it was quite—“

“I remember when Greg took Maisie Jefferies. She was so beautiful; such a handsome couple.” Then, having entered the kitchen without making any changes to herself or her environment, she left.

The internet was Niall’s best chance to get a read on his revelation’s reception. Sure enough, by noon, he had been tagged in fourteen separate videos of himself, all with no less than one hundred likes and fifty comments. He dared read a few, girding his loins and assuring himself he had the fortitude to endure reading the unfiltered comments of his peers. After a few minutes, it became evident he could not.

Without giving it due consideration, he deleted his profile. He instantly regretted it, knowing it was his easiest peephole into the life of Louis Tomlinson, but even thinking about the boy gave Niall an ache he couldn’t well bear. To alleviate it, he pulled out his phone and sent a probing text to Louis, “hey,” just to see what kind of response it would get.

There was no subsequent reply text, but unsolicited texts from others came in. John and Sam had chimed in with, ‘You’re my hero!’ and ‘So proud of you, dude!’ Sam’s was bedazzled with a slew of celebratory emoticons. Ed barraged him with support: ‘Happy 4u!’ ‘Whoz the lucky guy!’ Of course, Zayn and Hannah had reiterated the support they’d offered the night before and suggested using the weekend for celebrating and reconnecting. Niall had every intention of taking them up on it.

He was touched and heartened to see all the support. Most dear to him was the text he received later in the day from Holly Baker, who stated simply, ‘I’m hurt, but I understand. Be happy, friend.’ The ‘Thank you’ he replied with reached depths of sincerity he regretted were largely incommunicable through a text.

That wasn’t the last one, though. The last one came on Sunday, after a full weekend spent either with Zayn and Hannah or Skyping with his wildly supportive brother. In short, Niall was feeling a bit of a hero, especially now that he’d severed all ties with the internet. The text was from an unknown local number and said, “knew u were strong proud of u.”

They were sitting in Hannah’s living room, playing the playable trailers on her PS4. Niall was comfortably slothing it in a bean bag chair while Zayn and Hannah fostered their own little shared world on the sofa.

“Hey,” Niall broke into their two-person sanctuary to get their attention. “Who’s 303-861-8771?” As soon as he spoke, his intuition answered for him, but Hannah confirmed it. “Harry,” she said.

“Have you—Has anyone heard anything about him since he was expelled?”

Hannah tucked her feet up on the sofa under Zayn’s thigh and tried to watch the tv screen with as much focus as Zayn, but Niall could tell she felt a tension that wasn’t there before.

“We text sometimes,” she said. “He’s been trying to get work, but he hasn’t had any luck. It kind of makes things hard for him at home. Well, harder.”

Niall wanted to know more, would beg details if it weren’t for that he felt he’d already revealed enough of himself for one weekend. He quietly saved the phone number into his contacts and texted back, “ta,” with the rosiest smiley face he could find.

~*~

What Niall really, really wanted on Monday morning was for someone, anyone, to offer a bit of comfort, someone to hold his hand and tell him that going back to school was going to be ok. As he cycled in to the red brick building, there was no indication that it wouldn’t. It wasn’t the post-apocalyptic wasteland Niall had envisioned as he wiggled restlessly in his bed through the night. In fact, despite a few looks here and there as he chained his bike to the rack, everything seemed perfectly normal. Ken Abrams and a small group of his roper friends passed, all of them looking ready to hop on horseback and go tearing off across the untamed Colorado wilderness; Ken was the first to notice Niall and he cawed, “Irish faggot!” which of course led to a hail of other slurs and hateful sounds, but Niall proudly lifted his fingers to give them a proper cursing and barked, “Feck off, ye cunts!” and rather felt that, as for that round, he had won.

His stomach truly began to knot, however, as he trucked through the halls to his first class. The walk was a gauntlet of whispers and slurs barely disguised as coughs. His desire to turn back and avoid school altogether was countered by how badly he needed to see Louis Tomlinson’s face, to read his eyes when they met. The home room was buzzing when he opened the door, all the gossip that had been building over the weekend too explosive for Jefferson Valley High students to contain. No one bothered to lower their voices or stifle their giggles.

Hannah was surrounded by a group of girls who were no doubt mining information on Zayn, who they only now seemed to realize was craveably handsome. Nadia regaled a group of stoners who had been ‘too above’ the high school thing to go to the dance and who were now wearing faces that clearly expressed they wished they had. But Niall’s eyes glossed over them all and found Louis surrounded by footie jocks and a few of the preps, Liam guarding him like the secret service or something.

Louis didn’t see him at first, but then the whole room seemed to sense him and go quiet, turning to face him. Louis looked up with the rest of them and that one glance, so quick and fleeting, told Niall everything he needed to know: scorn. Louis’ eyes were full of scorn, with no small amount of fury and Niall felt the fundament loosen between his feet. He was rooted to the spot and uncertain of how to move his feet when Mrs. Jordan appeared from the teacher’s lounge and said, “Oh, Niall! Coach Bartly would like to see you.”

She said it with the appropriate amount of conspiracy, but the whole class was so attuned to that blonde, Irish boy that not an ear in the room missed it. A soft hum of giggles and snickers spored up from the student organism and Niall didn’t relish breathing it in. Especially as he saw Louis hide his face in his notebook. Even more unnerving was Liam’s willingness to meet his eyes straight on.

Things were better in the hall. He remained entirely unmolested all the way to the gymnasium. Coach Bartly sat behind his great desk, pouring over paperwork, but Niall could tell immediately he was only pretending.

“Oh, hey, Niall, have a seat.”

Niall did and only then realized he was still wearing his backpack. Bartly waited patiently for him to wiggle out of the straps and drop the thing to the floor.

“How was your weekend?”

Niall recognized the question for the bullshit it was and replied simply, “Fine.”

“Good. So, here’s the thing, Niall…” Here, the coach sighed and laced his fingers atop the table like a government official preparing to lie to someone. “I had a little powwow with the boys over the weekend and we all felt it might be best if you dropped off the roster this year.”

Niall blinked a few times. He wasn’t surprised by the news, but only now was the inevitability of this outcome apparent to him. “Because I came out at homecoming.”

Coach’s fingers unlaced in a supplicating gesture. “We just don’t feel you’re a good fit.”

“Why aren’t you just saying it? Why won’t you just say you don’t want queers on your team?”

“Hey, watch your language, young man!”

There was a finger pointing at him right now, but it did little to put Niall off the scent.

“Is it a legal thing?” Niall persisted, wishing he had the foresight to investigate this earlier. “Because I could sue the school for discrimination? Get the media involved?”

Coach’s half-formed smile undermined the falsity of his voice’s conciliatory nature. “We’re not kicking you off the team. We’re just asking you to withdraw.”

Niall’s mouth was working faster than his brain, but thankfully it seemed to have a bead on the gist. “You’re asking me to voluntarily quit.”

“Yes,” Bartly said, taxed.

“Because I’m gay.”

“Because we don’t think it’s a good fit. Soccer is a family, Niall. There has to be an understanding between the team, a trust—“

“—that I won’t feel them up in the showers? That the kind of trust we’re talking about, here?”

The Coach’s face was going red and Niall only felt curious to see if he could make his head literally explode.

“I don’t need this attitude, boy! You either shape up or you’re going straight to the principal’s! If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s you goddamned, smart-aleck punk kids, thinking you know a goddamned thing! Well, you don’t! You don’t know the first goddamned thing about life! You’re just a selfish, arrogant, useless little—little—“

“Poofter?”

“Yes! Yes, goddamn it! Soccer is a sport for men! Sports are for men! Real men! For soldiers, for warriors, and goddamned heroes! Not for pasty-faced little faggot boys and their conscientious objections; nancing around like goddamned—goddamned—queers!” The tirade stopped only long enough for coach to pant some air back into his lungs and for Niall to let the concussive aftershocks wash over him. But coach wasn’t done: “So get the hell off my team! Get the hell off my team and let my boys have something to be goddamned proud of! Join choir or theatre, or whatever the hell it is you fags do! Just get the hell off my team!”

In the resulting silence, the sound of the old, discolored analog clock that hung over Coach’s desk became very loud. Niall’s whole face felt heavy, no part of it more so than his tongue and jaw; which was why it was remarkable that he somehow managed to form the word, “No.”

“What?”

“No,” he said, the miracle happening again.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Um. I mean no. No. No. I am not quitting the team. No. Go ahead and kick me off if you like, but that huge stink you’re afraid of? That’ll happen.”

Now coach’s face was going purple and the clock was silent. When the coach’s chest inflated for what was doubtless another diatribe, Niall topped him. “I came out at homecoming! In front of God and the whole damned school! I didn’t—I didn’t—I’m not scared of you!” He was reviving and his loss of vocabulary didn’t even distress him. “No! I’m not! Hell no! You can just—You tell Louis and Liam and Carey and whoever the hell else to stuff it! – And you’re lying! John wouldn’t—Sam! No!”

Niall got to his feet, indecorously struggling to get his backpack back on. “I’m not quitting! And you can tell your bloody soldier boys, whatever you call them, to just hang it! You can all just hang it!”

Niall marched to the door, vaguely aware of some noise being made behind him about how he would be regretting this, how things could be made very difficult for him and no one had his back, but Niall was preoccupied with a hunch that had gripped him and refused to abate. At the door, he turned and, stopping coach mid-railing, he spat, “You’ve never even been to war, have you?”

It was only a guess, but the fact that the coach’s head very nearly did explode, told him he was right.

~*~

“Hey, Niall.”

“Hey, Zayn.”

“Sucks to come back to school after a weekend like that, huh?”

“What?”

“Well, I mean, homecoming was pretty epic. Sucks to have to come back to the earth after that.”

“Oh… Yeah. I suppose.”

They both stood silently as Doyle Banner dropped a paperback off his pile of books and, after a moment’s thought, decided to leave it on the library floor. After he left, Niall picked it up and said warily, “They tried to kick me off the team.”

“Oh, shit! Who all?”

“The team. That’s all Coach said.”

“Like, Louis and all them?”

“He didn’t say. Just ‘the team’.”

“He probably just means Liam and the lot. I’m sure Louis wouldn’t… There are good guys on the team, too, huh?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, at least I thought so.”

“Hey. Have faith, man.”

Niall nodded and they fell into a starchy silence.

“Um. Bell’s gonna ring in a few.”

“Yeah. Oh! Hey, check out this thing Hannah made!” Zayn pulled a small, black square from his backpack and it took a moment for Niall to recognize it was a decal. There were white lines a black background; something like a rune or a logo.

“What is it?”

“It’s all the first letters of our names together. See? There’s the H, there’s the Z, and this is the N. It’s a sigil or something. For good luck or commemoration or something. Hannah made it.”

“Oh, wow,” Niall said, appreciating the ingenuity of the design. It was elegant. “That’s really cool. Wow.”

“Yeah. Keep it.” Maybe someday you’ll have a car to put it on.”

“Ha! No day soon, mate! You put one on yours?”

“You kidding? My car’s vintage!”

“… Ah…”

“… Put it in the window; Hannah would’ve killed me if I didn’t.”

Niall laughed, relaxed. “You free tonight? Maybe we could go to the game café. Been craving a chai.”

“Uh, yeah. I kinda promised Hannah a date night. You know, to ween us off the high of homecoming.”

“Oh! Oh, so that’s a real thing, now, huh?”

“Oh. Yeah. Kind of a real thing. Uh. So, you gotta find yourself a fella so we can double date, right?”

Niall gave a thin laugh. “Right. Yeah.”

Zayn cleared his throat. “I’d better get to class.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. But we’ll hang out soon, alright? Boy’s night! And – uh… Call me if you need anything – anything.”

“Yeah. Will do.”

“Right. Catch you later.”

“See ya.”

Zayn left and Niall watched him go. His French class was down the hall and to the left, but Niall instead went down the hall and to the right and slunk into the back alcove where the bad kids snuck off to steal a smoke. To his relief, Nadja was the only one there. She blinked through the smoke and smiled when she recognized him.

“Hey!”

“Hiya.”

She pulled the cigarette from her lips and offered it to him. His resistance lasted only a moment before he took it from her and sucked deep. He didn’t hack and cough this time like he had done at Harry’s. It burned his throat and lungs, made his eyes water unpleasantly, and made his nose tingle with the need to sneeze. However, when he exhaled, his world returned to normal and his nerves felt somewhat restored.

He gestured for Nadja to take the cigarette back from him, but she waved him off with a, “Nah, you finish it. Bell’s gonna ring in a second, anyway.”

And so it did.

“Thanks,” Niall said, putting the cigarette to his lips again and inhaling deeply.

As Nadja passed him to go into the school, she patted his back and said, “Hang in there. We’re rootin’ for ya, man.”

Feeling himself full of nicotine and ash, Niall just nodded, pretending the stinging in his eyes was from the smoke.

The cigarette was gone in less than five minutes and Niall felt himself wishing he had another one to justify his standing amidst dumpsters, alone and in the biting autumn air. In truth, he didn’t know where to go: Certainly not to class where his tardiness would draw attention and he would be cornered into sitting next to the boy he had once dearly loved, but who had voted him out of the one club in which he had felt he’d ever earned a place. This torture, however, was not his to escape and the door to the alcove opened and there he stood: Louis Tomlinson, face stony and hunched shoulders hunching further against the cold. He wasn’t wearing a coat and he had a bathroom pass clutched in his white knuckle grip.

“What the fuck are you trying to do to me?” Louis barked without preamble, his hard, clattering voice knocking the surprised ‘Oh, hi,’ right out of Niall’s mouth.

“What?”

“I said what the fuck are you trying to do to me?”

“I’m not—I’m not trying to do anythi—“

“Liar!”

Then Louis was rushing him, knocking him back against the hard metal of the trash bin, the sour reek of it overwhelming the smoke and filling his nostrils.

“You trying to fucking tear me down, you fucking prick? Turn everyone against me? You trying to fucking ruin me?”

Niall was getting slammed back into the dumpster repeatedly, his head knocking back against the protruding lip.

“Stop!” he yelled under the battery. “Louis, stop it!”

He finally got his bearings enough to push back, compelling Louis off him.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Eleanor left me!”

Niall’s senses were still reeling from the pounding and he wasn’t certain what he was hearing. “What?”

“Eleanor left me! Over the weekend! That’s what you fucking wanted, wasn’t it? You selfish little shit! What did you tell her?”

Niall’s eyes finally came to rest in his head and when the boy in front of him came into focus, he saw that his eyes were watering and his nose was red and runny from the grief. “Nothing—“

“Liar!” Louis retorted, shoving him again hard into the unyielding metal behind him. Niall turtled and caught himself before his head crashed into the dumpster again.

“I’m not lying!” he yelled in his distress, hurriedly pushing away from the dumpster and into the ally where he had space to run if he had to. “I’m not lying, Louis! I didn’t tell her anything! You were cheating on her – did you really think she wouldn’t find out? You can’t treat someone like that and have it end well!”

“Not if someone fucking _tells_!”

“I _didn’t_ \--!”

“I don’t love you, Niall!” The boy’s teeth were bared and the glaring in his eyes was downright animal. “I can’t love boys! I’m not queer like that! I just like the way boys give head, alright? What did you fucking think? You’d come out in front of everyone and we’d be a happy little queer couple? I’m respected at this school, Niall! I’m fucking respected and I’m gonna go to a good college and get a great fucking job and have a real wife! I’m not some-some weirdo fucking fag, alright? I’m not like you! I’m _normal_! You hear me? I’m _normal_!”

The grace under fire that Niall had in the morning, under Bartly’s attack was not so accessible when confronted with Louis’ and he felt entirely at a loss to defend himself. He gazed at Louis’ once so irresistible face, warped by his distress and anger.

“I—Louis, it wasn’t about you! The homecoming, all that, it wasn’t about you—“

“Bullshit!” Louis cut him off. “Bull! Shit! You’ve been obsessed with me since you came here! I read your fucking journal, Niall! And because I’m not gonna fucking make house with you, you’re gonna destroy everything! How could you do this to me?”

A new panic gripped Niall; it was cold and paralyzing and it whispered that maybe Louis was right.

“No,” Niall said softly, dreading how the math added up. “No, Louis—Louis, that’s not what I was trying to do, I swear that—I just want people to know who I am! Who I really am!” He had found his footing again, the surety of it giving him courage beyond what his wisdom could mitigate. “And I love you! I do! I don’t want to destroy you, I want to make you happy! The homecoming, telling everyone, it was for me! I wouldn’t hurt you, I love you--!”

“God, do you even realize how sick you sound? Boys can’t love each other! You don’t love me! Harry didn’t love me! Boys can only love girls, alright? Just—Just stay out of my life, Horan, ok?” He turned as if he was about to storm back inside, but before he even touched the door he whirled back, shouting louder than ever, “And get off the fucking team! We don’t want you on it anymore! Nobody wants a goddamn fag on the soccer team!”

The softness, guilt, and compassion in Niall shriveled with the mentioning of the team. He became aware of his posture, shrunken and collapsed on himself and immediately righted it, throwing his weight back onto his spine. “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Louis,” Niall said, a snap of impatience in his voice, “I earned my fucking spot on that team and I’m bloody good at footie! I’ve proved that! I’ve proved that to the whole school! Look, I’m sorry about Eleanor and I’m sorry that you’re—that you’re—“ he dared say it, “self-loathing, or whatever, but I deserve that spot!”

“You didn’t! I only put you on the team because—uh, because—“

“Because you wanted to fuck me,” Niall finished for him.

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you, Louis! Just because some guys on the team are bigots and hypocrites doesn’t mean I deserve to have this taken away from me!”

“It was unanimous!”

“What was?”

“The vote to ask you to leave! It was unanimous!”

“Wh—N-no, it wasn’t! John wouldn’t—he would never do that!”

“He did,” Louis returned with self-satisfaction. “He and Sam both.”

“Liar! You’re a fucking liar!”

Louis said nothing, but shook his head in the negative in a smug fashion.

“You’re a fucking liar! A fucking self-loathing fag and a liar and a fucking hypocrite—fucking--!”

His curse was cut short by Ms. Faris appearing wide-eyed in the door, attracted no doubt by the screaming. She looked between them as both boys fervently rubbed the tears and fury off their faces.

“What is going on out here?” she asked, slow and measured.

“Nothing, Ms. F,” Louis said, almost frightening in his ability to instantaneously put away his true face and show a false one. “We just got a bit carried away.”

She looked like she wanted very much to be convinced by that, but Niall’s face prevented the enchantment from having effect. “Uh,” she said, wisdom failing her. “You’re both supposed to be in class.”

“Right, yeah,” Louis said, immediately spurring into action. As he made his way to the door, he leaned into Niall’s ear and whispered, “Don’t you dare show up to practice tonight.”

When he was gone and through the door, Niall was still standing there, his spine struggling with its load.

“Niall?” The falsely collected voice of Ms. Faris failed to break him from his trance. “Niall, are you alright?” It was the sound of her nearing footsteps that brought him out of his reverie. “Niall, if you need someone to talk to—“

“I’m fine.”

“If anyone treats you badly, Niall, you need to let someone know.”

Niall wondered if that edict would stand if he indicted the entire soccer team and their coach. Somehow, he doubted it. “I’m fine,” he insisted again.

Ms. Faris folded her lips and dropped her eyes with a nod as if to acknowledge both the obvious lie and the reasons behind it. “Come on,” she said, extending one of her arms from where they had been bound tightly across her chest. “Let’s get you inside. It’s much too cold out here.”

The woman herself was warm and inviting and Niall yearned in that moment for the comforts of a mother; he knew what was on the other end of that siren invitation, however: another hour of sitting next to a seething Louis Tomlinson amidst the gossiping broil of his fellow students. His eyes flickered to her hand and instinctively he shook his head.

“N—“ Ms. Faris said, tentatively pursuing his retreating steps and wiggling her fingers at him as if she were trying to seduce a skittish cat. But, like a skittish cat, when she came too near, Niall frighted and turned on his heel, leaving nothing behind but the sticky scent of nicotine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I have any fan artist readers? I'd love to chat with you if you're available!
> 
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	26. A Rude Awakening and a Return to Things of Comfort, Uncomforting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Meet me after the chapter -- I have a proposition for you.

The first thing he did was go to the corner market next to the school and stare for a good five minutes at the wall of cigarettes behind the amused Cuban man who stood at the counter. After a good deal of squinting and wincing, Niall’s contemplations were interrupted by his spectator. “You even old enough to smoke?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Are you eighteen?” Having detected an accent, the man spoke slower and more clearly.

“Ah, no. My birthday’s not til September. Then I’ll be eighteen.”

“Then I can’t sell you cigarettes, even if you do ever decide what you want.”

Niall blinked at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds, stymied by this law that other kids seemed to have no difficulty circumventing.

“Come back when you’re eighteen. I’ll sell you whatever you want.”

From where he was hovering back by the packaged pastry rack, Niall now came forward, his fingertips tapping lightly on the filthy counter. “Can I buy a lottery ticket?” he asked, looking down through the glass at all the rolls of brightly colored, sparkly paper beneath.

“Must be eighteen to play,” the man informed him.

“Alcohol?”

“Twenty one.”

“What can I have?”

The man turned from the counter to the tall, slender, glass-faced refrigerator behind him and returned with a plastic yellow and blue bottle. “This,” the man said, placing it on the counter with aggrandized importance, “is a Yoohoo.”

“That’s it?” Niall asked, categorically unimpressed. “That’s what I get?”

“This is all I can offer you as far as self-destructive wallowing is concerned.”

“Is it obvious? That I’m wallowing?”

“I know you either should be in school or at work, this hour of the day.”

“I might’ve been expelled.”

“All the more reason to wallow, if you were!”

Niall looked at the Yoohoo. “I suppose it’ll do,” Niall said, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. The counter man rag up the purchase and even put it in one of the little brown paper bags usually reserved for bottles of hard liquor.

“Do not wallow too deeply,” he advised. “At your age, there is so much room for things to change.” As Niall accepted both advice and receipt with gratitude, well aware that he hadn’t the breadth of perspective to understand what such advice even meant.

The days were getting noticeably longer and the sky was luminous steel. When he arrived at the stadium, the steel had turned to navy blue. He was early and coming from this direction, he got a glimpse of the pitch as would a spectator coming to watch.

It still filled him with excitement. The bloom of pride still welled in him when he thought of his performance at the homecoming game and neither Louis or Bartly or time itself would ever diminish that memory. Nor, he decided, would any of that trio deny him the possibility of creating new memories of the same kind.

This determination set in his bones, he flung his third bottle of Yoohoo into the trash and strode to the entry gates of the field. He turned into the vomitorium that led to the locker room. It was there a voice stopped him.

“Oh, hey!”

He looked up and there saw John at the other end of the long hall, hurrying his bulk toward him with urgency. “I thought you’d be coming from the other direction,” he panted. “Didn’t see you in class. Thought you might’ve gone home or something.”

“No. Just ditching.”

“Better be careful with that, man.” John came abreast his friend, rosy from the quick jog. “They call your parents at some point if you keep ditching.”

Niall just shrugged and John took advantage of his silence, “Look, I wanted to catch you before practice. There’s, I just wanted to talk to you about some stuff.”

Niall hoisted his backpack up a bit higher on his shoulders and countered John’s step toward him. “You gonna tell me to quit the team, too?”

The friendly, casual countenance that defined John and made him loveable suffered a momentary collapse and gave way to visible melancholy. “No, man. You do what you gotta do, but I gotta warn you about these guys… These guys… They aren’t always nice to everybody and they aren’t in a nice mood about you.”

Niall eyed him cagily. “Louis said it was unanimous; that you and Sam both voted me off the team with everyone else.”

“We weren’t voting you off the team—Look, Sam and me, we talked about it before hand; I mean, we knew how this was gonna go…” There was something helpless in John’s eyes when he extended his hands toward Niall, palms up, in a pea for understanding. “We voted that it was a good idea that you aren’t here; for your own good, Niall!”

“For my own bloody good, I’m sure!” Niall sneered, wringing his backpack straps violently. “Maybe you could have voted not to be a bunch of arseholes. That ever occur to anyone?”

“Yes, that came under discussion!” John retorted with an uncharacteristically raised voice. “They wouldn’t listen! No one was interested, Niall. I’ve seen this happen before! They’re like sharks who smell blood in the—“

“You still should’ve stood up for me! Not just rolled over and let them—“

“The team, maybe! Maybe we could have made a bit of difference if we stood up to the team, but what about the rest of the school? What about the faculty, the coach, all the teachers, the rest of these pinhead students? Even that, Niall, what about the whole town? You’re still new here,” he said pointedly. “Do you not get what it can be like here? There’s still an active KKK…”

This all set Niall back on his heels. His fingers became weak on his backpack straps and they fumbled. “What… What do I do? I mean, I just want to play footie, I didn’t want to lie anymore, I—“

“You gotta quit the team,” the other boy said. “I asked the coach if I could talk to you first, but he said he needed to do it. I had a feeling he was pretty shit at breaking it to you.”

Niall flopped against the wall. His reality was becoming his worst fear; the fear that had kept him quiet for so long. He had never damned his own courage so much as he did in this moment. What had happened to him on the night of the Homecoming dance to make him forget the terrors that kept him awake at night? Perhaps those terrors were too busy becoming real to warn him of their danger.

The bell shrilled from the school and both of the boys jumped. John recovered sooner. “You’d better get going. The rest of the guys are gonna be here, soon.”

Indeed, the foggy hum of swarming students leaving the building was audible in the distance. The world felt very close around Niall and he was trembling. “I want to play football,” he said, even though his throat was chalky. “And it’s called fucking _football_ because you play it with your fucking _feet_.”

With that, he pushed past his teammate and swung into the locker room.

~*~

Practice was tense, to say the least. There wasn’t a joke that was shared between more than two people at a time and many of those were clearly unkind and directed at Niall. No one made eye contact with him; even Sam and John were too cowed to acknowledge him in the funereal atmosphere.

The drills were uneventful, but when the end practice scrimmage came about, Niall knew he was in for it. It was the first time Louis looked at him and the look wasn’t nice. They were guarding each other as usual. It was an absurd arrangement: Louis was overly aggressive against an opponent whose team clearly had no intention of ever passing him the ball.

The first real blow came when Niall made a frustrated attempt at stealing a pass. The team captain’s response was to charge him, whacking him into the earth so hard the wind was knocked right out of him and he saw stars. Louis had given up control of the ball for the privilege of pommeling him and yet still sneered down at him, “Teach you to steal my fucking pass!”

Enraged, Niall got to his feet and chased after him, to successfully steal a pass from him less than a minute later. He passed the ball to Eric and felt pretty pleased with himself until he found his face plastered into the mud again. This time it was clearly the cause of an open act of aggression that couldn’t be disguised as a side effect of game play.

But nothing happened. No whistle blew, no sharp words from the coach, just snickers from his teammates and the cold earth scraping against his knees as he again lifted himself to his feet.

 

From that point on, it was open season on Niall. The boys on his team began to pass him the ball so the boys that weren’t on his team had an excuse to smash him in the mud. Louis seemed to find the most windows of opportunity. When Niall had had enough and threw his weight into the other boy, tackling him to the earth, only then was the whistle blown and a foul called.

“What the bloody fuck?” Niall roared at the coach.

Bartly rounded on him, snarling with out-stretched finger, “Language, Horan!” Then, he handed the ball to one smug, vindictive Louis Tomlinson.

The game was less than an hour in length, but by the end of it, Niall’s practice kit was caked with earth, he was bleeding from both nostrils and he was dizzy from the blows. It was a shitty scrimmage, both teams so determined to clobber Niall that neither of them had scored a single goal. By the high spirited cheering as they were released to the locker room, however, one might suspect it was a championship win on both sides.

Niall was the last off the field. For as filthy as he was, he had no intention of indulging in the vulnerability of the shower. He didn’t notice the warning in that a few of his teammates didn’t, either. He had planned to leave before everyone else, but his injuries delayed him and the field was empty when he emerged.

At first he was relieved, the thought of a luxurious shower upon his return home warming him, but all comforts were dashed when Max, Jared and Carey emerged from under the bleachers.

“Hey, Niall!” Max cawed, sounding salesman-cheerful to see him. “Fancy running into you, here!”

“Yeah, man!” Carey joined in as the three of them advanced. “I’m sorry I missed your game! Luckily, Jared texted me and told me I should come by and congratulate you before you left.”

Niall stopped under the cool silver lights of the stadium and watched them with narrow eyes. “What,” he said, feeling a burning in his chest that became fast-spreading fire. “What did you say to me?”

The trio under the bleachers were startled and delighted by the response.

“Look at him trying to be tough!” Max cackled.

“It’s cute,” Jared said, his deep voice vibrating through the web of metal bleachers.

“Run, faggot!” Carey belched hotly, his high-spirited mask having exhausted itself. “You’re fucking pissing yourself! I know you want to! Just run like the little pussy bitch you are!”

Something in Niall recognized this as very good advice. He didn’t, however, take it as it was intended. He flung his backpack down and despite the protests of his bruised and repeatedly battered body, he ran toward them, into the dark of the bleachers.

They did not see it coming; especially not Carey, who took the brunt of the attack, crashing down into the firmament with a furious, violent Irishman atop him.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” Niall raged, driven to mindless ineloquence. His blows were likewise imprecise and aimless, but he felt his hands getting wetter, which suggested his efforts weren’t in vain. His success was short lived, as the other two wasted no time in hauling him off. He simultaneously received a blow to the face from one direction that made his world burst into pain and another blow from the other direction, delivered to his guts that made him disgorge all the YooHoo he’d housed before practice.

It wasn’t a fair fight. Three well-bodied, refreshed and uninjured boys against one who had already been thrashed to the ground for three quarters of an hour was no fool’s bet. Still, he fought. He was too angry not to. His jabs were wild and reckless and rarely hit their mark, but still he threw them. For every punch that landed, he received five-fold from his attackers. Eventually they wised up and realized their superior number allowed for one of them to hold his arms back, leaving the others free to test their strength against his body unopposed. His nose was an early target and he felt a snap that made his entire skull feel broken. As for the lower blows, it felt like they were trying to snap his ribs like icicles and a blow to his balls made what little was left in his stomach come up.

His world was white with pain and he was coming to the grim conclusion that this was how he was going to die. His world was going fuzzy at the edges when he heard a voice say, “Alright! Enough! Cut it out!”

There was a pause in the beating before three more blows impacted his ribs.

“Carey, I said cut it the fuck out!”

Niall’s eyes had either swollen shut or he had locked them closed for his own safety, but either way, he didn’t see what happened. He only knew he fell to the ground and his hand was stepped on in what seemed a minor scuffle between one of his assailants and the new arrival.

“Ow! Liam, fuck! Let me go!”

“Get in the car!”

“Liam, I swear to god—“

“Carey, get in the goddamn car!”

“It’s not even eight yet! Mom says I can be out til ten on a school—OW, fuck! Fine! Asshole!”

The grinding of dirt as shoes stormed by, then a kick to his side, the sprinkling of spittle in his hair, and one muttered word, “Faggot.”

The shoes around his prone form paused for a second before the voice he recognized as Liam’s said, “C’mon, guys, move. Let’s go.”

“So, what?” Jared said. “We just leave him like this?”

“I dunno, man. Someone will find him.” That was Max. “Oh fuck,” he then continued, suddenly, “Movie starts in a half an hour! We gotta go!”

Two other sets of trainers pounded the earth as two boys left the scene of the crime. That left one pair of shoes remaining. Niall considered trying to move, but pain lanced through his bones at the very suggestion.

“Aw, fuck, Niall,” Liam said and Niall could feel him crouch beside him. “You are one dumb little shit, you know that? Why didn’t you keep your mouth shut?”

Niall managed to make a noise that rated in as something close to agreement.

“Liam!” Carey’s voice came from the parking lot. “What’s the holdup? He blowing you or something?”

“Shut up, Carey!”

Liam was leaving him now and Niall began to panic.

“I mean, I know he doesn’t have any teeth, but you gotta resist, Liam!”

“Shut the fuck up, Carey!”

Niall moaned as loud as he could, but the retreating footsteps didn’t stop or alter their path. He heard the distant sound of the two brothers squabbling at their car before it pulled out, leaving silence in its wake.

Now Niall was truly scared. At least, as scared as he could be for as exhausted as he was. He knew he had to move; he knew what would happen to a bleeding body left exposed on a cold October evening in Colorado. He tried again. The throb and ache was agony, but Niall pushed through it, willing himself to get to his feet. Once erect, he felt this might actually be doable. The walking wasn’t terrible, even if the bending and lifting of his backpack was, but it was clear there would be no bicycling home.

In fact, there would be no going home at all. Not like this, where his parents would take one look at his face and everything would unfold. Not like this, where his un-Greg-ness would be exposed for his parent’s castigation. In truth, only one place came to mind as a possible refuge. There was only one place he wanted to go, wanted to be. It was in that direction he began to head.

The throbbing in his nose was like a beacon he instinctively knew to follow and he allowed his awareness to narrow down to that single, painful point so he could block out the hurt of his shifting, weight-bearing limbs. He had gotten off the pitch, passed the bleachers, and was an admirable distance away from the school, but his right leg began to buckle and he feared he wouldn’t make it.

He stopped and his breath hitched once, twice, and then he allowed himself to cry. His tears were steaming hot in the autumn air and he could feel them blaze trails through the dirt on his face. “Oh, fuck, Greg,” he called to the man who couldn’t hear him. “Oh, fuck, Greg.”

He allowed himself a few moments more of this release, until he felt his hip start to lock up. He simply had to move. Having no wish to die of cold and exposure, he forced himself to keep walking toward that halfway between the danger of the school and the rejection of his home.

The yellow field was slowly approaching on the right and, as always, it shone in the moon’s favor. He remembered the password to getting through the thick stalks unscathed; passing them gently and slowly, though indeed he could pass them no other way.

The door to the little shack was no rustier than he remembered, but certainly more difficult to open. The once-tidy tile floor had suffered further upset and Niall struggled to keep his footing.

The shack was empty. There were, however, signs of recent habitation. A small, portable generator swallowed up the bulk of the space and it was surrounded by several cords and cables. The room stank of gasoline and old metal. A little space heater whose metal was rusted an earthy brown sat next to the bed.

Niall dropped his bag and lowered himself as gingerly onto the mattress as he could manage. The musty smell of the sheets brought back all his memories of this place and he felt as if more time had passed than actually had. He reached for the lumpy comforter and pulled it about his shoulders. It was too thin, too old, too weightless to protect him from the cold of night. That, however, was the least of his discomforts as he closed his eyes and slept.

~*~

He awoke, shivering and disoriented, but that wasn’t what roused him to presence; there was a hand on his nose, his face, impeding his ability to breathe. He flailed in panic and only heard the rumble of a low voice saying, “This is gonna hurt.”

Niall only had the time to honk, “What?” before those aggressive hands yanked his nose, causing a loud crack and the most alarming, skull-rattling pain radiating through his sinuses. It was like a sneeze magnified in extremity and full of razors. His eyes watered to tears and scrambled away, screeching, “Ow! Fuck! What the fuck!”

“It was broken,” the low, molasses voice said. “I just set it right.”

Niall kept his eyes closed against the buzzing that was slowly fading in his face, his fists smashed against his cheeks to deaden the stinging. When the acute pain eventually subsided, Niall realized he wasn’t breathing and he sucked air harshly into his lungs. Only then did he crack open his watering eyes.

He saw Harry kneeling patiently on the floor, eyes downcast as if he hadn’t the privilege to look at what was in his bed. Niall likewise looked away, aware that he was here uninvited and that the boy might not be pleased to see him, after their last parting.

“I’m sorry,” Niall said softly. “I didn’t know where to go.”

The apology was met with a moment’s silence and the drawling response of, “I got your bike from the school.”

“Oh,” Niall said, trying to think through the head and body aches that were attempting to eclipse his awareness. “I thought I locked that up.”

“You did. Your key was in your backpack.”

For a moment, Niall was scandalized that Harry would commit such a casual breach of privacy, but was swiftly reminded that he had, in fact, broken into Harry’s house and made himself at home in his bed, so perhaps it was time to take such intimacy for granted.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep; leave his body to heal its hurts without Niall having to feel them. A glance out the window told him it was only a few hours after he’d gotten here, making it probably around seven at night. He hugged himself tightly and closed his eyes, his head falling forward.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Harry said, shaking his arm to rouse him.

“Mm?” Niall lifted his head. “Why not?”

“Because,” Harry said, “you may have a concussion. You have a headache?”

Niall winced and would have nodded if his head had been up to it. “Everything hurts.”

“Let me see your eyes.”

And then, Harry was cradling his cheek in his large, rough, warm hand and Niall was faced with two fathomless green eyes searching his in the silvery moonlight. He felt a soft puff against his face as Harry laughed.

“You can’t close your eyes if you want me to see.”

Because Niall had done. His face tilted up into the other boy’s, he felt that he simply couldn’t bear letting another person see inside him. Tears slipped from beneath his closed lids and were interrupted in their trajectory as they ran into Harry’s thumbs. Harry never moved his hands from Niall’s face in those silent minutes it took for Niall’s tears to fall, but he did catch them all with patient diligence.

“I couldn’t—I couldn’t fight them off like you. I’m not a fighter, I didn’t—“

“C’mon,” Harry cut him off. “Let me see while the light’s good.”

Niall gave a rattling snort that made his bruised ribs spike him and his sinuses explode. He tasted blood in the back of his throat. After much fluttering of the eyelashes and abortive attempts, Niall finally managed to expose his pupils for inspection. And there, still there, was Harry, his eyes green and beautiful and far too incisive for Niall’s comfort. He bore the examination, watching Harry’s pupils shift in precise, minute back and forth motions, judging between left and right.

“Looks normal,” Harry concluded, and then both eyes and hands were gone. “You got dirt and gravel in your wounds,” he said casually, picking up a can of gas he had no doubt retrieved for the generator. “You should go home. Clean it out. You’re a mess.”

It was true. All the mud had dried onto Niall’s skin and was now flaking all over the bed. He could feel his hair standing up for all the earth that was caked into it and he knew the darker stains on his shirt and flesh were blood.

“I can’t,” he blurted guiltily. “I can’t go home.”

Harry was not expecting such a response. He hung dumbly in the center of the room, readjusting his grip on the oil can. “You have to go.”

“No. I’ll be fine.”

“You need a shower.”

“I just need to sleep a little more, I’ll be grand—“

“You’ll get infected.”

“It’s not that big a deal.”

The oil can stopped shifting in Harry’s grip. Instead, he was clutching it fiercely, going a bit white around the knuckles.

Niall swallowed down on the wet at the back of his throat. “Please don’t make me go home,” he said, suddenly aware that his imposition on Harry’s life was more than just the commandeering and sullying of his bed. He was lucky, he knew, that Harry hadn’t kicked him out already.

Harry didn’t reply to his request, but kept staring resolutely past the walls of his house.

“Harry?” Niall tested gently.

Again, nothing.

Flashes of what had transpired between them the last time they were here arose before his eyes and he knew why Harry couldn’t face him, wanted him to leave.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly as Harry started to fade with the day. “For what I did to you… I’m sorry.”

With a snort, Harry finally stopped glaring into nothing and said sullenly, “I told you this would happen. I told you what he was like. You wouldn’t listen.”

It was an accusation Niall couldn’t deny. He had been fairly warned by the one person who had the authority of knowledge. “I know,” Niall said, wincing. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I wish I’d listened to you. I’m sorry.”

From what little he could see of Harry in the dark, he could tell his apology had done little to soften him. He was still torqueing the handle of that damned oil can.

The cold was advancing without the sun’s rays and soon what little visibility they had would be extinguished. “Where’s your—Did something happen to your lamp?”

“Broke.”

They were at an impasse. It was too cold, too dark and too late to get the generator working without further supplies, but Niall couldn’t go home. There was nowhere else he was willing to go, either. So, silent, they remained motionless in the dark, until eventually the oil can fell hard on the broken tile floor with a bang.

“Fine,” Harry said. “You can come to mine and get cleaned up, but you can’t stay.”

“Yeah? You know, if we go to yours, maybe we could get some flashlights and I could help you with the generator.”

“Can you walk?”

A reasonable question and Niall rose to his feet to test it. It was a labor intensive process and everything screamed, but he wasn’t dizzy or nauseated anymore. Shaking, stumbling, he shifted forward a few paces, proving to them both that this was definitely possible.

“You look like a zombie,” Harry said, the tips of his eyebrows going up in amusement.

Niall looked down at himself and considered that a fair assessment. He lifted his hands, went, “Gwaaaarrrr!” and shambled a few steps toward Harry, trying to get a real laugh out of him. It got a half-amused snort, but the dimples had yet to make an appearance.

“You sure you’re ok to walk?”

“Yeah. Uh… How far is it?”

Harry pointed. “Through the woods that way; maybe a quarter mile.”

Niall took a deep breath and tested his lungs. For all the damage to his ribs, they were all right at least. “Alright. Let’s go.”

~*~

Niall had never been in the woods. Killarney National Forest was as close as he’d gotten to that sort of thing and it didn’t compare. As they neared the dense black of the trees, Harry offered his hand and said, “There isn’t a path. I always just find my way.”

Tentatively, Niall took hold and Harry said, low and casual, “I won’t let you fall.”

Niall never fell. Often, he stumbled over roots, rocks and the unevenness of the earth, but he never fell. On occasion, he had to stop, rest his aches, and take a gander at the moon, but Harry never let go of his hand. Niall went as slowly as an ancient, but Harry never hurried him and, eventually the curtain of trees parted and a wall of fences greeted them. They had snuck up on a neighborhood from behind and were staring at its undercarriage.

“C’mon,” Harry urged him, moving faster over the even, grassy ground until they got to where the wood fences turned into chain link and the overgrown, unattractive backyards became visible. The houses they were attached to were no lovelier. Broken out windows were covered with trash bags, paint was rotting off, rooves were shedding tiles and gutters were collapsed from their moorings.

Harry finally stopped at a house where a rusty, decrepit swing set grew up between overgrown weeds, the rear door was hanging off its hinges and a hole in the side of the house had been boarded over with a pizza box.

“Stay here,” Harry said and when his hand left Niall’s, Niall actually experienced momentary fear. Harry scrambled up the fence and flung himself to the other side before he went to the chain that held the back door safe shut with a combination lock. Pulling the chain through the fence was a noisy affair, but this neighborhood seemed well practiced in ignoring a ruckus.

When they had stepped into the house, Niall’s nose was immediately assaulted with the stench of stale smoke and trash that long ago needed taking out. They were in a hall with wallpaper once white with red flowers, now stained yellow with watermarks and spots of mold.

“Come on,” Harry whispered, taking hold of Niall’s elbow and leading him up the stairs. He pulled him into the first room on the left and shut the door behind him.

The room was nearly barren. Instead of a bed, there was a sleeping bag on the floor and the walls were bereft of the band posters Niall had expected. There was a lone, blue dresser that was short and narrow and sloppily spotted with various kinds of stickers; superheroes, robots, and a renegade princess sticker every so often. Harry was rummaging through this tiny, well-loved bit of furniture even though there didn’t appear to be much in it.

“Did you take all your stuff to the shed?” Niall asked.

“Mm,” Harry grunted in something affirmative. He seemed to have found what he was looking for and extended some wadded garments to Niall. “I don’t know if these will fit. They’re just some old sweats for when you get out of the shower.”

Niall reached out to take the offering but the gesture was aborted when he couldn’t even properly lift his arm high enough.

“Shit,” Harry said, his eyes shifting as he thought. He sighed heavily, put the clothing in Niall’s hand and instructed, “Wait here,” before disappearing from the room.

For a few seconds, there was nothing; then the sound of a door opening and a haggard, smoke-and-whiskey voice rattled through the house, “Harry? Is that you?”

A door closed quickly, followed by Harry speaking. “Yeah, mom.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just came to get some stuff.”

“You’ll be too cold out there, Harry. Cal won’t be here tonight. Just stay here with me.”

When Harry spoke again, he was right by the bedroom door. “Maybe tomorrow night, mom. I almost got the generator running.”

“You’re gonna burn that fucking forest to the ground, Harry.”

The door opened and Harry was back inside, taking Niall’s free hand and pressing two pills into his palm. “Take these,” Harry said, waiting until the pills were in Niall’s mouth before he handed him a plastic cup of water.

“What were those, anyway?” Niall asked, only after he had swallowed them.

“Valium,” Harry replied. “They’re my mom’s. C’mon, I’ll show you the shower.”

The bathroom was commensurate with the rest of the house. Looking at the cracked tiles, the rusted fixtures, broken mirror and the accumulated grime that looked a good quarter of an inch thick, Niall really wondered if this was the appropriate environment in which to clean himself. However, Harry had turned on the shower and the sound of cascading water was too tempting to ignore.

“Alright,” Harry said, shamefaced as if he could guess Niall’s revulsion to his home. “I’ll get supplies and we can leave. Be fast.”

As Niall stripped himself down, he couldn’t resist the perverse draw of witnessing his exposed body in the mirror. He looked like a topographical map, painted with purple, black and blue mountains, red rivers and dirt brown oceans. He could only endure a few seconds of this examination before he hurried into the safety of the shower.

The water felt every bit as good as it had sounded. It massaged and soothed his battered body and seeing his wounds change from black and earth-caked to rosy pink made him feel healthier. He helped himself to the shampoo he found on the floor and in popping the cap, the shower stall filled with the smell of Harry Styles. It was astringent but fresh; a manly smell and on the bottle were the words _Mountain Spring_.

Niall smiled faintly and set about raking it through his hair. He remembered Harry’s instruction to be fast and had every intention of ignoring it until he heard what sounded like raised voices. It was hard to hear over the roar of the water, so he quickly scrubbed all the soap from his hair and turned off the faucet. Sure enough, the unobscured yelling came through the thin walls, making Niall’s shower-warm body prickle with chill.

“You were in my closet, you little shit! Don’t lie to me!”

The voice, so mangled with abuse and madness as to be genderless, was answered by Harry’s low rumble, but Niall couldn’t make out the words. He didn’t hesitate in dressing himself, although pulling up the too-long, too-thin sweatpants was proving devilish painful. Unable to support his weight, he dropped onto the toilet. Apparently, the lid wasn’t properly screwed on beneath him and it nearly came off, taking Niall with it, and he just managed to catch himself against the wall.

“I didn’t take anything, Mom!” Harry’s voice pitched up in agitation was now discernable.

“There were six in here, Harry! Now there’s two! You took four, you little shit! You think I can’t count?”

Once he’d tied the drawstring on Harry’s sweats and crawled into the oversized jumper, Niall still didn’t open the door. The truth was, this was a horribly awkward situation. Little embarrassed Niall more than a domestic. He’d once gone to a mate’s whose parents had gotten into it and he had gone into the backyard and hid in the tree house, refusing to come down until his mother had been summoned to beg him back to earth.

However, blushing though he was, shy though he was, his body had taken on a warm muzziness and neither the filth of his surroundings, nor the vandalism of his body seemed to bother him as much as it had only a few moments before. In fact, parts of his body that were agonizing for him now felt just as cozy as his unblemished bits. He closed his eyes and sighed, well content to stay in this moldy little bathroom forever, if need be.

Then he heard, “Thief! You’re a thief, you little shit head! I should’ve had you aborted, you trash! You’re fucking trash, you little faggot!”

“Mom, I didn’t take your fucking pills!”

It was the subsequent crash that brought Niall to his feet. The door floated before him and then he was through it, stumbling onto the scene. The woman standing in the doorway at the end of the hall was not what Niall had expected. She was actually very pretty, for all that hardship and age had done to make her not so. She had brown hair that went to her waist. The ends had shattered, but the rest of it was beautiful, not unlike Harry’s. She had makeup on, poorly applied. The mascara and eyeshadow had fallen into the wells of her eyes, giving her an even more skeletal look than her thinness warranted and the bright red of the lipstick she wore seeped into the feathery cracks around her lips. She wore a cheetah print dressing gown and one of her hands was shakily trying to maintain the cigarette that was ashing on the floor. Niall’s eyes left her just as hers were finding him.

“Who the fuck are you?” she snapped as Niall took in Harry on the floor in the hall, holding his head. Next to him was a clunky, yellow phone from the late 80’s, shattered into pieces.

“Harry?” Niall whispered, confused.

“Oh, you brought a little friend? Oh, nice! Oh, fucking great! Fucking great, Harry!” she railed at her son as he tried to get to his feet. “This is a great time to have your friend over, you rude little shit!”

She gave Niall a confused expression, before she turned from them both and retreated back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her so hard, the entire house shook to its foundations.

Niall stumbled to Harry to help him up, but Harry moved to right himself before Niall could touch him. There was a gash on his forehead and a horizontal cut across the bridge of his nose.

“She hit you with a phone?”

“She threw it. I got hit with some flack.”

“We should put some rubbing alcohol on it or something. It looks bad. Probably put a bandage on just to—“

“You’re supposed to fucking tell me!”

At first, Niall didn’t know what had happened. He just knew that something hit Harry’s shoulder, then some force chucked him on the chin pretty hard. Once it was on the floor, he saw it was a heavy glass jar, whose lid had flown off and clocked Niall in the jaw.

“You’re supposed to give me a day’s notice if you’re having people over, Harry! A fucking day! I can’t fucking believe you! Why do I let you live in this house, you ungrateful little shit!”

Harry’s mom was in the door again and whatever had happened on the other side of it in the half a minute she was gone had only made her angrier. Her burning cigarette extended before her like a jouster’s javelin, she charged down the ranks toward them. “You are a seriously fucked up little shit, Harry! This is how you treat your guests? I’m in my fucking nightie, Harry! My hair looks like shit and you invite someone into my fucking house?! This is my goddamned house, Harry! My goddamned house!”

Niall, in his stupor, was aware of Harry hurrying down the hall.

“Don’t you fucking run from me, you little shit!”

Harry ducked into his room, leaving Niall exposed to the gorgon’s wrath.

“Oh, this is great for you, isn’t it? A great—a free, a free fucking seat for the freak show, isn’t it? You like it? Huh? You fucking like what you see? This what you came to see? How the freaks live?”

Niall was too stoned out of his mind to do little more than shrug, which seemed to only aggravate her more. “You smug fucking little shit--! You want something to laugh about? You wait til Cal gets here! He’ll give you something to fucking laugh about!”

Niall frowned in confusion because he certainly wasn’t laughing; he wasn’t even smiling, he knew, because he checked his face with his hands. Their conversation was interrupted, however, by Harry reappearing with two heavy-laden packs, one a gym bag and the other his school backpack. Harry yanked his arm and Niall barely managed to keep his feet under himself as he was dragged down the stairs.

“That’s right! That’s right you shitheads! Get the fuck out of my house! Until you can follow the rules of my house, you get the fuck out! And take your smug fucking friend with you!”

Even as they were struggling with the chain on the fence, they heard her continuing to yell from within the house. “And he’s not welcome back, you hear me? Whoever the fuck he is, he’s not welcome back!”

Niall toddled toward the woods, not caring, in his state, that he would no doubt be tripping and falling on his face in short order, being pure darkness as it was.

“Here. _Here_!” A strong hand on his arm righted him from capsizing and something hard and cold was being forced into his grip. “Use this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a flashlight. Turn it on,” Harry said, doing so with his own. It took a good deal of fumbling, but Niall got the little device to work. He shone the beam of light before him and despite the way being illuminated, he still tripped and even went down twice. A snap of impatience in his voice, Harry grabbed his elbow after his second fall and said, “C’mon.”

“I’m walking funny, I think, Harry,” he said, taking hold of Harry’s hand like a wayward child.

“You’re high,” Harry told him.

“I am? I feel really good.”

“It’s the Valium.”

After a quick review of the facts, Niall realized this was a pretty good explanation. “I wasn’t laughing at your ma, you know. I wasn’t laughing at all.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Is she always like that?”

A downed tree made them pause and Harry helped Niall crawl clumsily over it. “No,” he said a little stiffly.

After a few more meters were behind them, Niall ventured, “Most of the time?”

That didn’t get a response and as soon as they were out of the woods, Harry let go of his hand. The loss was immediate and acute and Niall didn’t like it. He reached for Harry’s hand again but the other boy shook him off.

“Harry…” Niall whined, forlorn. He trotted a bit to keep up with Harry’s impressive stride on a straightaway and flailed for his hand again. Again, he was rebuffed. There wasn’t space enough for a third attempt as they soon found themselves at the little shack and there was no excuse for handholding once they were inside it.

Harry immediately pulled his portable, battery operated lantern from his pack and, after turning it on, moved to enable the generator.

“Um,” Niall said, shifting in the middle of the room. “Harry? Maybe you should take care of that wound on your head.”

Harry just set his flashlight on the bed and arranged it to the best angle to illuminate his work. The little shack was incredibly cold and the sweats Harry had procured for him were little defense against the creeping chill. All the same, Harry’s wound was gory and open and, having witnessed how it was made, Niall felt particularly pressed to tend to it. Gently dropping his fingers against Harry’s shoulder, he tried again. “Harry? Your head—“

“Generator first,” Harry said, clearly in no mood for an argument.

The small house already smelled of oil from the can that had been sitting out and the smell only intensified when Harry poured it into the tank. Niall crawled into the bed and made himself comfortable as Harry went about pulling the rip cord to get the machine running. It was sexy. Watching Harry put his foot on the little machine and throw his arm out like a scythe was sexy. It reminded him of living in Ireland as a boy, watching from his bedroom window as his neighbor, the wank-worthy Henry Cleary would start up his lawnmower with his shirt off. Niall had gotten off to that in a major way.

Eventually, the motor took the charge and the room was filled with a gring-gring-gring-gring-gring sound. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was low and constant and Niall listened to it as closely as if it was a voice, primed to tell him the secret answers to all the questions he’d forgotten to ask. Under the beautifying effects of the Valium, he watched as Harry set up the space heater with an extension cord he’d been mindful enough to pack.

“It’s cold, huh?” Niall squeaked over the gring-gring-gring. He saw Harry’s eyes flicker over to him and then glance away again. As if to occupy himself, Harry went about tidying the room, even though he hadn’t much mobility with the generator in the way.

“Are you still angry with me?” Niall asked, lifting his voice again. He sounded more flippant and unconcerned than he knew himself to be. Accessing the painful parts of himself was challenging under the influence of the benzodiazepine. He caught Harry’s one-shouldered shrug, but had he blinked, he would have missed it.

At a loss, he chewed his lips. “Are you embarrassed?”

That got Harry’s attention and he stopped futzing with the dresser to turn and give him a look. “What do I have to be embarrassed about?”

For a moment, Niall was completely stumped and he couldn’t remember what had prompted him to ask such an absurd question. “Uhh… I don’t know.” The constant gring-gring-gring made his thoughts even more flumuzzled and jumbly and it no doubt contributed to him blurting, “I’m embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Niall said, tucking his arms under the blankets to warm himself, “everyone knows I’m gay, now. That’s embarrassing. Not the being gay, just the—everyone knowing, everyone having an opinion; everyone thinking their opinion matters.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the heat from the space heater dry his nostrils. “I’m embarrassed about… what happened between us. I was a jerk. I’m embarrassed I thought I was in love with Louis Tomlinson. I’m embarrassed by what I thought love was. I’m embarrassed I thought he’d love me back. “

Harry’s hands slowed in the drawer and when they emerged, he held a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a ratty old t-shirt. Niall tipped to try to see his face, but it was hidden by curls that weren’t tamed back with a bandana.

“Let me do that,” Niall said, reaching for the bottle and the shirt. Harry held his finds protectively against his chest and said, “You’re too high. You’ll poke my eye out.”

“Well, you can’t even see where it is, so _you’ll_ poke your eye out. So, c’mere.”

After a moment’s consideration, Harry relented and cautiously sat next to him on the bed, handing Niall the implements. Niall’s first attempt to get the lid off proved clumsy, and when he looked up, he saw the twinkly-eyed smile-that-wasn’t-a-smile, which he had seen on Harry before. It was lovely and warmed his heart, but he found himself longing for a sighting of those rare and elusive dimples.

As soon as Harry caught him looking, he lowered his gaze and the smile-that-wasn’t-a-smile disappeared.

The unpleasant smell of peroxide filled the whole room, so Niall was quick about his work, soaking the cloth and screwing the lid tightly back on the bottle. He bunched the material in one hand and with the other, gently took hold of Harry’s chin and made him face him. Harry’s eyes were downcast so far as to be closed, but Niall let him hide as he gently pressed the antiseptic-dense fabric against the wound on the boy’s brow. It wasn’t bleeding like it had been, but it was still oozy and open.

“Does that hurt?” Niall asked, when he didn’t hear the expected hiss of pain at having an astringent pressed into a wound.

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed, voice flat.

Niall laughed softly. “You’re so tough,” he said. “I forgot how tough you are.”

The blood had run down over Harry’s temple and the swell of his cheek and once Niall had convinced himself Harry’s wound was as clean and disinfected as it was going to get, he licked the pad of his thumb and went to smudging out the blood trail.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning you. Like a momma cat.”

Harry’s eyes twinkled up and Niall knew he thought it was funny, but when he went to lick his thumb again, Harry caught his hand before it made contact with his face. There was no explanation for it, but Harry’s boundaries and little eccentricities were starting to make a bit more sense now that Niall had seen what Harry’s home environment was like.

He let Harry keep hold of his wrist. In fact, he used it as a distraction to his not-very-stealthy endeavor to sneak closer to him. He wasn’t trying to steal a kiss; he was very obvious about his intention, moving as slowly and as carefully as a spaceship trying to dock at a space station. He felt Harry’s grip tighten, but that didn’t constitute a red light. His lips landed on the velvet cushion of Harry’s cheek and once he’d given him one kiss, it was impossible not to give him several more.

“I’m so sorry for what I did to you,” he whispered between pecks, feeling Harry’s curls catching in his eyelashes. “I’d undo it if I could.”

At last, Harry made a noise – a harsh, deep sound not unlike a sob. Niall tried to pull back and look at his face, but the boy locked a hand around the back of his neck and held him still.

“No one comes back,” Harry grunted, his voice harsh and deep. “Once they’re gone, no one ever comes back.”

“I’m back,” Niall whispered and immediately kissed his cheek. “I’m back. I learned my lesson and I’ve come back.”

The hand on the back of his neck slowly thawed and became soft, caressing and tangling in the hairs there. Niall took it as a good sign, but when he tried to duck his head to find Harry’s lips, the boy flinched away.

“Harry—“ Niall tried again, leaning further in, but Harry responded in kind by turning further away. “Harry,” Niall pleaded, feeling something unbearable well up in him as Harry rejected his affection. But the boy didn’t budge, only kept a death lock on the wrist he was still gripping.

Suddenly, Niall was struggling with him, trying to crawl into his lap and force his way into his arms. When Harry let go of his wrist in an attempt to gain control of his hips, Niall had all the leverage he needed to sling a leg astride Harry’s thighs and throw his arms around his neck. Harry’s hands were bunched in his shirt and with an angry growl, he fought to unseat him.

Niall clung hard. It was a bumpy ride, but he could tell that Harry was making an effort to be gentle with his damaged body and all he had to do was whimper like he was in pain and Harry stopped struggling. In fact, he dropped his head on Niall’s shoulder and let his hands fall to the outside of their coil in defeat. They sat like that for some time, feeling the night become cooler around them despite the space heater’s best efforts.

Several times, Niall dozed off on Harry’s neck, but never once did he relinquish his grip. The third time he startled awake, he heard Harry say, “C’mon…” and pat his thigh to encourage him off his lap. Niall responded by clinging harder and making a petulant, contrary sound.

“C’mon, I wanna sleep,” Harry insisted, shifting beneath him to try to get them both horizontal. Niall allowed him that much, but kept his arms secure about the boy’s neck as if he was the only anchor to the earth. Harry suffered it patiently and arranged the covers atop them so they would both be warm; his efforts were ever frustrated by the stubborn limpet hanging off his shoulders.

Once they were settled, Niall snuggled against him and, unable to resist, he kissed his cheek one last time before dropping off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Nice to see you again!
> 
> So, I've been wanting to do a Larry one-shot for a while now and I'm looking for prompts! I'd love to hear your thoughts! To have yours considered, send them to me on Twitter or Facebook! My info is as follows:
> 
> WordPress: https://gvbutterworth.wordpress.com/  
> Twitter: @gvbutterworth  
> Facebook: GV Butterworth  
> Tumblr: gvbutterworth
> 
> I'll be posting update schedules to my social networking sites, along with sneak peeks, and upcoming story notices :) I look forward to seeing you there!


	27. Great Mansions and Fields of Dandelions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the home stretch now, loves.
> 
> Thank you so much for bearing with me. This novel has meant a lot to me. It has been more important with a journal and I thank you all for being a patient, supportive, generous community that created a safe space to share. 
> 
> I have gotten to know a few of you and that has been such a blessing. I consider you my friends.
> 
> But this isn't the end, so I'll stop being soupy. :D I hope you enjoy. As always, I would love to hear from you.

The Valium wore off just as the sun was starting to rise and Niall hissed fiercely as he woke to his first experience of whole-body ache. He whimpered and the soft sound was enough to bring wake his bed mate and arrest his full attention. With nothing more than half a glance over Niall’s rigid form, Harry knew what he needed and carefully extracted himself from Niall’s arms.

“Ow,” Niall whined as the lock he’d sustained around Harry’s neck through the night was broken, and it felt like his very arms were breaking, too. “Harry, ow…”

When he returned, Harry had the Snowmass water bottle, a granola bar and something in his closed fist. “Eat this,” Harry said, taking the wrapper off the bar and helping Niall close his scarred fist around it.

“Why?”

“So the pills don’t make you throw up.”

The other two missing pills, then.

Dutifully, Niall munched on the granola bar, a slow and torturous task for all the bruising around his jaw.

“’Do you think they broke anything? Should I go to the hospital?”

“They didn’t break anything. I checked you out. A few fractures, maybe.”

It didn’t even occur to Niall to question Harry’s field medic acumen. When Harry determined he had enough on his stomach, he handed him the water, but hesitated on passing over the pills.

“What?” Niall asked, licking the moisture off his lips after sucking on the straw. Harry’s brow was furrowed and he glared at the far side of the room. Niall didn’t prompt him again, but waited, breathing steadily through his tight ribs.

“Are you really sorry?” When Harry spoke, his voice was far away and sad. “Now that you’re sober? Did you mean it?”

“Yes,” Niall said, flinching only for the pain he felt as he struggled to sit up. “Yes, I meant it. I don’t know what was wrong with me.” They both knew exactly what had been wrong with him.

“Do you still love him?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie.”

“No.” Niall insisted adamantly, all too easily recalling the vicious words Louis had said to him, the twisted sneer on his face, the repeated clobbering. “I had no idea what he was! He was just using me for sex and… and status, I mean, I don’t even know. I’m not certain he’s not a mental case.”

Harry was looking at the pills in his hand, rolling them around each other like ben-wa balls, not looking any more comforted for Niall’s assurances. Desperate, Niall blurted, “I know what he did to you… I know how much you must hate him. I know how infuriating it must’ve been watching me—“ He chose not to finish that sentence and instead took a moment to brace himself against the aches of his heart and body.

Seeing the agony on his face, Harry mercifully handed over the pills and Niall threw them back without hesitation. He felt one of them catch in his throat and his eyes watered at the pain. He had to suck down half of the water bottle to get the damn thing to pass.

He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to talk with me sober.”

Harry gave him an expressive moue and shrugged.

Despite his hurts, Niall smiled back. “Thank you for everything,” he said sincerely, in response to which, Harry gave him a bob of the head, ‘yes’. “I wasn’t certain you weren’t going to kick me to the curb. I would have deserved it.”

At this, Harry shook his head the other way, ‘no’.

Niall reached out with his busted fingers and took hold of Harry’s hand as best he could. The little space heater was still crackling away beside the bed, warming them despite the early morning chill that seeped through the uninsulated walls of Harry’s little shack. Niall had no idea what time it was, but neither the thought of going to school or going home crossed his mind.

He relished Harry’s steady presence. It held more healing in it that Hannah and Zayn’s giddy, sincere, but still unrefined friendliness, his parents’ bored disinterest, and certainly more than Louis’ manipulative seductiveness. He worked harder to properly secure Harry’s hand in his.

“Do you forgive me? For what I did? I’m really sorry.”

He was sorry to have done it when it happened, but he saw it more clearly now, as if the anguish of his wounds was the rude awakening he needed to put his head on straight.

Harry glanced at him, reaping more information in that instant than most could with a chorus-worth of staring. The long, articulate fingers that Harry had draped indifferently into Niall’s palm curled into a firm hold. Niall could hear his breathing become strange and stunted and a line appeared between his brows as if he was in deep concentration. The grip on his hand was far too firm for Niall’s injuries, but he bore it, placing his other hand atop Harry’s. For all his stoicism, Niall knew Harry’s hurts went deep in his heart and lodged there.

“Forgive me,” Niall urged gently. “I was wrong, but I get it now. I understand. I understand you. I’m sorry.”

The grip got tighter and Niall let out a squeak, but didn’t protest or pull away. Instead, he leaned in and kissed Harry’s temple, wetting his lips with Harry’s sweat.

“Breath, Harry,” Niall said, when he noticed he wasn’t. “Breathe. You’re safe, here. Breathe.”

The breath that came in was ragged and splintery, but the grip on his hand released to the point where Niall could stop gritting his teeth. The shattered breathing continued, and Niall carefully pet his hair, muttering over and over, very quietly, “It’s alright. You’re safe. I won’t hurt you. It’s alright…”

Despite the consolation and gentle touches, when Harry turned to look at him, Niall could tell the storm hadn’t passed. Harry’s green eyes told of a childhood forged in betrayal and humiliation and Niall felt his own breath catch.

“Nobody comes back,” Harry growled, low. “Once they’re gone, they don’t come back.”

“I did,” Niall whispered fearfully, well aware that Harry’s animal ferocity was aimed squarely at him.

The kiss that Harry landed on his all too willing lips was of a hungry, jungle passion that filled every cell in Niall’s body with scalding heat. He mewled beneath it, wondering how in his life he had ever hoped to find anything better than Harry’s kisses. He clutched at Harry’s shirt while the larger boy trapped him by the back of the neck and hugged him tight. Niall whined into his mouth on account of his wounds but instead of granting a reprieve, Harry started taking off his clothes.

It was slow going. Moving like he was half a century older than he was, Niall tipped back onto the bed and lifted his hips, so Harry, who was pressing smoldering napalm kisses into his skin, could slip them over his butt and off his legs. His black and blue mottled skin was a graphic sight and Niall winced squeamishly, turning his head and closing his eyes. Harry was there, gently stroking his ribs with the backs of his knuckles and kissing up his neck.

“It’ll heal,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “It always heals.”

“They hurt me so bad, Harry—“

“No one’s gonna hurt you again.”

Harry kissed him fiercely, possessively and Niall let out a deep sob of gratitude. He hungrily gathered as many of Harry’s kisses as he could, starved for them, while Harry deftly unbuckled his belt and slipped out of his jeans.

“Harry—“ Niall was trying to lift his thigh, to hook it over Harry’s hip, but he felt he had neither the strength nor flexibility to do so. “Harry, I can’t—“

Then Harry’s big hands were stroking over his skin, helping turn him onto his front. It was a clumsy, unglamorous process that required more concentration and unsexy swearing than Niall would have liked, but once he was on his front, his hips supported by a pillow and his knee tucked up so his hole was utterly exposed, he felt so vulnerable and sexy, his pains were quickly washed out by arousal.

“Harry,” he called for him, moaning, eyes closed, eager to have Harry’s weight atop him, pushing him into the thin mattress.

“Did he fuck you?”

Niall’s eyes popped open. “What?”

“Did he fuck you?”

Harry stroked a hand down his spine before dipping into the warm crevice of his cheeks, his fingertips catching at his hole.

“No!” Niall said earnestly, trying to not undermine the sincerity in his words by bucking back against Harry’s explorations. “No, I—We never got—“

“Did you fuck him?”

Harry’s fingers were cold as they flirted against his tight ring of muscle and pushed into the dark, private place behind his balls.

“No! We never did anything like that!”

“You swear?”

“Yes! I mean I just-- I blew him once, but that was it…” At this point, awkward and vulnerable as he was, honesty became of paramount importance. Harry’s fingers curled into his hips and he folded forward til his forehead came to rest on Niall’s back.

“Mine,” he said, his breath wafting hotly over Niall’s skin. “Mine,” he insisted again, adamantly kissing Niall’s spine and blazing a hot trail south.

“Harry—“ Niall panted, thrilled and flushed with arousal by being claimed by and defenseless beneath this wild animal. He felt Harry suck a mouthful of flesh from the inside of his buttcheek and curl his tongue against him. It would leave a deep, dark bruise, but this was the kind of bruising Niall could get behind. He let out a whimper and felt his cheeks tremble and his hole wink for attention and Harry obliged, testing Niall’s anus with the tip of his tongue before determinedly pushing through, opening him up around his wet, hot muscle.

Niall humped the pillow that supported him as best he could and risked upsetting his damaged shoulder to reach down to take hold of his cock. He got two strokes in before Harry reached under his hips and arrested his wrist. It was a pretty uncomfortable position, his hand trapped back between his legs and he was about to complain when Harry started drilling him with his tongue. Niall nearly choked against the pillow, his hole grasping helplessly at the powerful invader.

With his other hand, Harry held his wriggling lover open so he could lave and suck on and fuck Niall’s tight ring of muscle without the boy shutting him out.

“Harry…” Niall whinnied, absolutely helpless against Harry’s onslaught, which was exactly how he liked it. He gave up fighting, letting himself melt into the bed, letting Harry have control of his wrist and swaying his hips high in an offering to the man he’d wronged.

As if to make a point, Harry spanked his cheek, then nibbled at the stinging flesh before he drove his tongue into him again. He pressed his thumb firmly behind Niall’s balls and stroked hard over his perineum, making his tongue feel even larger in his arse. He punished him with pleasure and Niall couldn’t help but notice this was no incentive to behave.

“Harry,” he panted, “take me… fuck me…”

His hand was still trapped by Harry’s between his legs and he whimpered to free it. He remembered how big Harry’s cock was and he wanted to feel it pulsing in his palm before he felt it pounding inside him.

In response, Harry purred and nuzzled against his cheeks, letting the peach fuzz on his chin tickle the soft skin there, but he didn’t let go of his wrist. It was clear he was reluctant to leave the tender pleasures of Niall’s arse, but Niall was making very insistent grabby motions with his captive hand that couldn’t be ignored.

“I want to feel it,” Niall begged pathetically, his face smashed into the pillow.

Harry had mercy on him. With one final, sucking kiss between his legs, he pulled away and Niall was momentarily abandoned. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. When he saw the room panting with him, he knew the Valium had kicked in. He experimented with rolling his hips and found that the pain was a distant echo and that rolling his hips felt amazing. What felt even more so was when the heavy, throbbing, demanding presence of Harry’s cock filled his empty hand.

“Oh….” Yes. It was even bigger than he remembered. His mouth dropped open and his eyes lulled closed again as he began to fondle it. “Oh, God, Harry….”

Summoned, Harry carefully took hold of Niall’s jaw and bent over him to kiss him passionately, dangerously. “Nobody,” Harry said, his voice heavy, ragged, “will ever fuck you as good as I do.”

“Yes,” Niall gasped against his mouth, knowing deep within him that was probably the case. The kiss they shared sealed the agreement between them.

“Nobody else touches you,” Harry growled against his lips, his fingertips trailing teasing circles on his bottom. “Nobody makes you come but me.”

“Yes,” Niall panted. “Yes, Harry.”

In response, he felt Harry’s cock give a powerful throb and drip into his hand. Then he felt Harry shifting on top of him and heard him fumbling with the lube on the ledge. When he heard the cap pop open, he felt his hole squeeze in excitement.

Then Harry said that word again, “Mine,” and two long, slicked fingers were pushing inside his most intimate place.

“Ahhh!” Niall squeaked as Harry pushed in past his knuckles, making Niall’s spine curl. “Oh, fuck!”

“Stroke me,” Harry said in his sex-dark voice. “Keep me hard for you.”

From what Niall could feel, he didn’t need any help with that, but he was happy to keep stroking. His hand fast became sticky and wet from Harry’s leaking.

As he stroked, Harry fingered him, slowly stretching his hole and curling his finger into Niall’s nub in a way that made Niall’s whole body tremble and feel weak. He pressed Harry’s cock against his own and slicked it against his thighs, wanting his lover to fuck every inch of him. When he fisted their cocks together as well as his small hand could, Harry pulled away.

“Don’t come,” Harry said sternly. “Don’t come until I’m inside you.”

The cry Niall loosed was downright petulant and he bucked needily back onto Harry’s fingers. It got him a loving smack on the butt that almost made him come right then. Harry smoothed over his arse with his hands and pushed his cock deep into the crevice of his cheeks, closing the smooth flesh of his butt around it. Niall felt the dewy head of Harry’s prick catching on his opened hole and he knew he was being teased.

“Harry--!” he panted in need.

The sound of his lover’s chuckle warmed and aroused him and Harry’s hips slowed until his thrusts became shorter, angled to test the bulbous head against Niall’s opening. Niall could tell from the pressure that he wasn’t loose enough for an easy entry, but Harry was slick and Niall was high and the thought of it hurting turned him on.

“Harry, push it in. I want it.” He needed to be full; he needed to feel his heartbeat deep within his body.

Harry took him at his word and with the help of his fingers, he pushed the spongy head of his cock past Niall’s resisting ring of muscle. Niall let out a choked squeak and tried to relax. His skin was prickling all over and he forgot how to breathe properly, but Harry kept pushing. He stroked his hands down Niall’s tummy as the boy wriggled bucked to make space within himself.

Then Harry took hold of his hips, taking control of him and pulled him back as Harry pushed in. Niall warbled and whined like a siren as Harry pushed deep. It was clear Harry would have no half-measures; Niall was taking his full cock whether he liked it or not. By the time he felt Harry’s balls pressing into his butt, he was panting and sweating and trembling like an overworked horse. He felt Harry’s abdomen pressing into him with every breath he took and he discovered his lover was much in the same condition. Stuffed full of cock as he was, Niall finally had what he wanted: The throb of Harry’s heart seemed to fill his entire body and the heat of him felt like it was slowly burning its way into his genes.

“Harry…” Niall gasped, his lips nuzzling the pillow for lack of his lover’s lips. “Fuck me. Fuck me. Show me I’m yours. Make me yours.”

Apparently, those were the magic words. Harry got his knees under himself and pulled back, slipping his cock out til there was nothing left inside but the tip, then lunging forward and knocking a loud yelp out of the little Irishman. Harry started stroking in and out of him like this and Niall knew he was going to be ruined. The very thought made his cock weep and his hole open.

“Oh, fuck,” he heard Harry mutter in an utterly lost, dark voice, and Niall felt a swell of pride in having squeezed some words out of him. “Oh, fuck, you’re letting me in… Your hole’s getting soft…”

“Yeah,” Niall mewed, feeling for himself the way his body gave and how Harry’s strokes became easier and deeper.

Harry kept petting his tummy, then down to his hips to bring them together with a hard slap on the in stroke. Niall felt Harry’s balls spank hard between his legs and he spread them wider for better contact. Harry was hissing through his teeth and Niall tucked his head further into the pillow and whined as Harry took him harder. Niall had to fist his hands in the sheet to keep from touching his cock, and risking incurring Harry’s wrath again. But soon enough, Harry found Niall’s button and began hammering against it with all the force his hips could muster. Niall squeaked with each thrust and barely managed to form the words, “Harry--! Need to--! Come--!”

He could tell by the way his hole was getting wetter and wetter that Harry was close, too and he couldn’t imagine Harry wouldn’t want to come with him. Sure enough, Harry shifted, leaning over him again and pressing steamy kisses into his mouth. He helped Niall lift his hips off the pillow, which was difficult with a huge cock lodged deep within his bowls, but they made room for Harry to take hold of his cock and stroke him in time with his thrusts.

Niall couldn’t support his upper body and let his shoulders rest against the pillow while Harry rammed into him from behind. Niall’s mouth hung open in a moist, pink ‘o’, obscene, sweet moans and whimpers spilling forth until his orgasm was on him. He let out a series of long, lewd ‘huuuggghhhnnhh’s as his cock shot rope after rope of come onto the mattress, his hole spasming around Harry’s shaft.

He wasn’t even done when he felt Harry go off inside him, filling him with enough come for it to sluice down his cheeks and over his balls. He never thought he’d catch his breath again, but that nary seemed a hardship. Eventually, he felt Harry carefully pull out of him and he chirped as the head popped out of his gripping hole. The sudden cold against his backside was likewise unpleasant and were he not lust-drunk, he would have been able to do more than make a meek warble of protest. His body was covered in sweat, his and Harry’s both, and as his heartbeat slowed, he felt his skin flush with goosebumps.

Harry left the mattress to retrieve the same ratty t-shirt they had used to clean Harry’s head wound and he used it now in a crude attempt to get them both tidy enough for a comfortable sleep. Niall was a wasteland and soon the woozy delirium of exhaustion made a pass at him, but he valiantly fought it off.

“Harry,” he called weakly. “Harry, c’mere…”

Although he didn’t have the strength to ward off sleep’s second attack, he delayed it long enough to feel Harry take him in his arms and pull the covers tight around them.

~*~

Niall slept hard. His body had been taxed beyond what it could afford and no amount of golden sunlight streaming through windows or his ‘Sunny Side of the Street’ school alarm could dissuade him from the rest he so badly needed.

All the same, he alternated between vivid, profound dreams and a blurred, delirious wakefulness. The sounds of Harry puttering around the shack woke him on occasion and at one point, he spoke nicely and precisely to him the words, “Don’t forget there’s all that spinach in the basket,” because he had been dreaming of a farmer’s market. If Harry replied, it was lost in another wave of slumber.

He had a nightmare in which Louis had thrown a brutal punch at his ribs that not only landed, but kept pressing deeper and harder into his bones until it seemed his fist would burrow through him and burst out the other side. Upon waking, he found that Maisie the cat had settled atop him, her bony weight curled directly into one of the nastier bruises on Niall’s ribs. He moaned and unseated her, tucking her under his chin as he forgot the world again.

Harry woke him briefly to make him eat some soup from a can and take some Tylenol. When Harry answered his question as to the time of day and he learned it was three in the afternoon, Niall determined it was finally time to get up. He directly thereafter fell right back to sleep.

When his eyes lulled open again, the room was rosy with sunset and his face was being sprinkled with delicate angel kisses. His dreams had been so thick with sex that it took him a moment to realize that Harry was actually making love to him; his leg was draped over Harry’s elbow and he was definitely not imagining that hot, heavy pressure pushing in and out of his most intimate place. Harry was watching him adoringly, stroking over his face with gentle fingertips, his green eyes reflecting catlike contentment. Niall smiled at him and let his eyes fall closed, his arousal so much deeper for his straddling the waking and sleeping worlds. “Harry,” he moaned softly. Warm lips folded into his and as he fell away again, he wasn’t certain whether he heard or tasted the sweet words, “I love you,” being whispered into his mouth.

Suddenly, it was dark and Niall didn’t know how it had gotten that way. Harry was lying in the bed next to him, a notebook propped against his thighs and a colonial style home slowly shaping into creation through blue ink. Niall watched him quietly for a few moments before he said, “Did you just wake up, too?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Harry said, his voice relaxed and dreamy. “Had a nap.”

Niall let his head drop onto Harry’s shoulder and watched him work, still slightly anesthetized from exhaustion. When Harry finished and put the pages away, they indulged in gentle kisses for some time until Niall said softly, “I don’t think I can play football anymore.”

Harry’s thumb stroked over the corner of his mouth and he said bluntly, “You’d have to fight. You’d have to fight everyone.”

A forked line appeared between Niall’s brows. “I can’t fight everyone.”

“I could teach you how to fight.”

“I can’t fight everyone,” Niall said, firm. “If I—Even if I could fight with Carey and them, I can’t fight the school. I can’t fight Bartly, who’d do anything to be rid of me. I can’t fight the administration; they let Bartly get away with it all! And even then, I can’t fight my parents – god knows what they’re going to do! They’ll go mental! They don’t like me anyway, and then what is my life going to be, what the hell am I gonna do, Harry--!”

“Hey!” It wasn’t until Harry’s strong grip was around his wrists, pulling his hands from his face that Niall realized he’d had a bit of a spiral. “Niall. Niall, come back…”

Harry gathered him to his chest and the strength of his lover’s arms protected Niall from the threat of his emotions tearing him to piece. He babbled, “I haven’t been right, Harry. I haven’t been right since—since Greg left. Everything changed and I’m not who I’m supposed to be. I’m not where I’m supposed to be. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know! My life jumped the track somewhere along the line! I never wanted to be popular. I never cared! It was Greg’s thing to be popular, not mine. But then, there it was and I just made a grab for it and it was a complete balls-up, because I’m _not supposed to be here_!”

“Where are you supposed to be?”

Images came to his mind then, of his childhood home, of his brother’s face, of his old school and his old friends and ocean-thick air. The memories had closed his eyes and transported him and when he was returned, he felt reassured to have touched his foundation. He suddenly felt foolish for his outburst.

“Sorry,” he said, curling his fingers against Harry’s clavicle. “I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s ok.”

Silence fell between them, only interrupted by the rustling of sheets when Harry stroked gently down the flank of Niall’s thigh.

“Right now,” Niall said, whispering as to not disrupt the peaceful space, “is the most right I’ve felt since I’ve been in America.”

“Right now,” Harry whispered back, “is the most right I’ve felt in my life.”

Looking into his eyes, Niall believed it. He had the distinct impression Harry was not prone to hyperbole. Overwhelmed, Niall took him by the back of the neck and kissed him hard. “We’ll find it,” he said softly, nuzzling him. “We’ll find our place.”

“Here,” Harry countered, the tickle of his bum fluff catching in Niall’s. “This can be our place.”

Niall looked around. Everything was silver in the moonlight: The Tylenol bottle Harry hadn’t put away, the oversized generator still singing its song of gring-gring-gring, and the cat at the foot of the bed who was pinning them by their feet. And, of course, there was the boy in bed beside him: Harry, his beautiful slender sketch-pad body stretched out alongside his, just as much an outcast, tough as nails on the outside, great mansions and fields of dandelions on the inside.

“Yeah,” Niall laughed softly. “This’ll do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	28. Go, Move, Shift

When he got into his house, the first thing Niall did was take care of himself. His mother made a noise from where she was sitting in the den and the door to his father’s office was shut. They had neither of them noticed that he had been absent a full day; or, alternatively, they didn’t care.

He prepared himself the biggest bowl of burger and veg that he’d ever made, took two hours in the shower and caught up on all his favorite Youtubers from the comfort of his own reading chair.

His room looked different. Everything was precisely where he had left it, but all the same he felt that he was seeing everything from a different angle. He was a stranger in a strange house, even if it was his name on the door in cardboard football-themed bubble letters.

Despite having slept all day, come ten in the evening, he was exhausted again and felt drawn to the bed. His outfit from homecoming was bunched up on the floor and he very nearly stepped on it when he saw the dandelion corsage in the buttonhole. That was now dearer to him than it ever had been and he didn’t want it destroyed, so he lifted the suit jacket and carefully extracted it.

As he did so, he felt the weight of something in the pocket. Only then did he recall that Eleanor had shoved a crumbled wad of paper into his hand right before he ran away with Louis at the dance. _“Just promise me you won’t read it until tomorrow morning, ok?”_ she had said. His curiosity made him frantic and he scrambled for the note, nearly tearing it in his haste to open it.

Her handwriting was loopy, but with a no-nonsense slant to the right. She wrote from margin to margin in thick blue ink, very practiced and practical.

_“Hi, Niall_ ,” it began. _“I’ve written five drafts of this and I’ve finally accepted that this isn’t going to be perfect like I want. I just wanted to write you this letter to tell you thank you for saving my life. Sounds super dramatic, huh? Embarrassingly, it kind of is._

_I don’t have a lot of friends. I know it looks like I do. They’re not really my friends, though. I just didn’t really realize it until recently. I just knew I was really, really unhappy. Cause all of my friends knew about Louis cheating on me, but they didn’t tell me._

_I think the girls didn’t tell because they liked laughing at me behind my back or they were hoping he’d sleep with them, too. The boys didn’t tell because they thought it was cool and they wanted to stay loyal to Louis. You were the only one who actually told me._

_So you’re my only real friend. See?_

_I feel really stupid. I shouldn’t be writing this down. You must think I’m just as stupid as everyone else. I’m so embarrassed. I’m going to talk to my mom about moving schools. That’s really why I wanted to write. To say thank you and to let you know I’ll probably always be a little bit in love with you._

_When I caught you looking at me all the time, I was offended that you would look at another boy’s girl. When you told me after the party that Louis was a cheater, I wasn’t ready to face it and I told myself you were just trying to get us to break up. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. But I realize now that your constant, quiet support gave me the courage to face all this nonsense. I wish I could have faced it sooner. I wish I was brave enough to stay, because I think we would be good for each other. Not “rule the school” kind of good, either, but a good, loving couple bound in Christ. I’m sorry I’m not brave like you._

_Things have gotten ugly. I confronted Natalie Plympton about sleeping with Louis and I know she’s going to rig the homecoming court. But the joke’s on her: I really, really don’t care.”_

Here, the writing changed. It was still in blue ink, but from a different pen, as if she had left the letter and come back at a later time. The practiced curves of her cursive fell out of shape and Niall was reminded of moments of excitement as he wrote in his own journal.

_Except,_ she started, _I do think about how cool it would be to win King and Queen with Louis and stand in front of the whole high school and tell them what I really think of their lying, mean faces. I’d tell them all Louis was a cheater and not a real Christian and then I’d say to them all ‘And I’m in love with Niall Horan. How do you like them apples?’ And then we’d run willy-nilly out of the school and laugh skippingly through a field._

Punctuating this sentence was a cherubic smiley face with its tongue sticking out.

_But I’m not brave. I only hope I’ll be brave enough to give you this letter. Will you burn it once you’ve read it? Thanks. I love you. God bless you._

_Yours in Christ,_

_Eleanor_

Niall stared at the note in his hand for some time. He reread it more than once. He had no idea what to make of it except to be staunchly aware of how many other narratives were running parallel to his that he knew nothing of. His resentment for Louis Tomlinson only swelled upon the realization that, had he not been so distractingly attractive, maybe Niall would’ve seen Eleanor for who she was and fostered a genuine friendship. His shame at having disregarded her as little more than an obstacle to his aims pained him deeply.

The possibility that his own homecoming announcement may have made clear to her the actuality of the situation made him feel ill as well. His desire to speak to her in that instant was galvanizing and he leapt to his phone, hoping to find a third party that had contact information for her. Of course, the only person who unquestionably did was Louis, and Niall was in no way going to reach out to him.

Because he had deleted every one of his social media accounts, that avenue was closed to him as well. His best bet, he knew, was to see her in class the next day, which would mean exposing himself again to the brutality of his peers.

He owed her that much.

~*~

The air at Jefferson Valley High School was scented with the distinct whiff of paradigm shift. Niall was aware of it the moment he entered through the great glass doors, but he naturally assumed that this uncanny sensation was merely the result of his own recent, personal revelations. That he had triggered a chain reaction that caused several other momentous upheavals beyond his reckoning never occurred to him.

He entered his first hour class, his whole body attuned to finding Eleanor as quickly as possible. The girl was nowhere in sight, and sitting in her desk was a Skylar Emris, who was giving Niall the nastiest stink eye for having the audacity to look at her with such intense confusion.

He was about to ask her what the hell she was doing in Eleanor’s seat, but when he looked around the room it became clear that the entire class had chosen new seating arrangements. There had never been a seating chart, and it was only a matter of habit that saw the same occupants in the same place on a daily basis. However, it was clear now that that habit had been broken.

The preps and the jocks still occupied the front of the room, but no one in a familiar seat. Where Louis had been, Liam now sat and by the way Liam ignored him, Niall knew there would be no information gleaned from that corner. The disarray continued into the back and there he saw that his usual desk had been commandeered by a figure hunched over his phone, intently avoiding eye contact with anyone who dared approach. Niall intended to tell the usurper to take a hike, but with sudden alarm, Niall realized that his seat was now occupied by none other than Louis Tomlinson.

He quickly aborted his line of attack, but Louis seemed to sense who was drawing near and suddenly looked up, his blue eyes like floodlights. For a moment, they stared at each other. That the boy he was staring at now was different than the boy of 48 hours ago was the first thing to register in Niall’s mind; in what way, he wasn’t entirely certain, but there was an openness in his countenance and a vulnerability in his eyes that told Niall that something had happened. He startled visibly when Louis moved suddenly to pat the desk behind him in an invitation for Niall to take a seat. Feeling disoriented and adrift, Niall could do little more than shake his head in the negative and hurry to one of the empty desks on the far side of the room next to Nadja and her crew of stoners.

When the lesson started, Niall was still scanning his randomized peers and he managed to find Hannah had transitioned herself to the front, far to the right. She had clearly been waiting for him to spot her and she waved when their eyes met.

Niall waved back and mouthed the words, “What the fuck?” while spreading his hands wide in a questioning gesture.

Her response was to throw him an exaggerated grimace that suggested some sort of ghastly upset had transpired in his day’s absence. She followed it up with a swirl of the hand that clearly implied, “I’ll tell you later.”

They met in the hall.

“What happened to you?” Hannah asked, marching purposefully beside him as the crowd parted for their passage.

“Got beat up. Where’s Eleanor?”

“Oh, my God. That’s why you weren’t here yesterday, huh? It was insane, what happened yesterday – with Eleanor. I didn’t see it, but Zayn did. He told me all about it. It happened in his English class, you know? Zayn’s in it with Eleanor and so is Louis. She was giving this presentation on, um, I don’t know, James Joyce or something, and Louis made some bitchy little comment (you know how he can be) and she _went off_ —“

They were getting jostled as they made what use of the ten minutes of passing period they had, and Niall endeavored with great intensity to stay in hearing distance of her.

“Went off?” he asked, catching up after having been parted.

“On _everything_!” Hannah said, admirably masking her delight in the drama. “About how Louis had been sleeping around with everyone; she said she had names but she wasn’t going to share them, so the whole school is guessing who was on the list – I mean, who’s on the list besides the girls that came out and told everyone. And get this: Eleanor even hinted that Louis was sleeping with _boys_!”

She gave him a grin complete with glaring overbite, unable to resist the deliciousness of that bit of gossip. But, as they neared the privacy of her locker and opened the door of it against the swarming public, her mood shifted dramatically. “But it was really sad, I mean, she was crying. Zayn said she was very dignified, but he said the whole class’ heart just broke. We were all wondering why they broke up, you know? And, it was like, everyone just realized at the same time that Eleanor was the only likeable thing about Louis Tomlinson in the first place.”

This, of course, explained much. The girls would turn against him in solidarity of their own sex. The boys would turn against him for fear of having their names attached to scandal when trying to get into good schools. And, of course, if there was anything Jefferson Valley High loved, it was a villain. With Harry expelled, the masses were hungry for a new one and tearing apart Louis Tomlinson’s perceivably perfect life was just the thing to satisfy teenage appetites.

If only for a moment, Niall felt a pang of sympathy in his heart; but only an instant after, he found himself laughing.

“What?” Hannah asked, laughing a little herself.

“She got it,” Niall chortled.

“Who got what?”

“Eleanor. She wanted a public denouncement – I mean, I think she did. And she got it; that’s great.”

Hannah shrugged. “If Zayn ever cheated on me like that, I’d never want anyone to know. I’d die of shame.” A look of concern crossed her features, but they quickly relaxed into certainty. “Zayn would never do that to me.”

~*~

He decided, before even entering French class that he would not be taking his usual seat next to the fallen Louis Tomlinson. It was both practical and obvious, after what had transpired between them, but when Niall sat down at the undersized spare desk near the door, he caught a glimpse of surprise on the other boys’ face. Unsurprising after yesterday’s events was that the seat next to Louis remained unoccupied. Louis’ overnight plunge into wretchedness was painfully overt. When he cracked wise and tried to make the class laugh, it fell flat. Mr. Lunt had the room’s full support when he told Louis that no one appreciated him wasting their time.

That Louis’ sparkle was dying a sputtering death was something Niall didn’t need to witness to know. However, whenever he did steal glances at the boy, Louis’ eyes always met his as if he was eager for Niall’s attention. Niall looked away before any meaningful communication could be had.

A half-pie before the bell rang, Niall got a text. He lifted his head, eyes wide and startled, like he’d been goosed. His phone was on vibrate in his pocket, so no one had been tipped off, but he didn’t want to get caught. This wisdom was tempered with near-painful curiosity, since he sensed the text was from Louis. Apparently, the boy was so determined to talk to him, he was willing to risk cellphone confiscation.

When Mr. Lunt turned to his computer to address a Power Point glitch, Niall pulled out his phone and saw:

**Louis Tomlinson**

Meet me girls locker room after school.

Niall had just enough time to text back, “F no,” before Lunt reemerged with cell-phone hunting eyes.

When the class ended, Niall knew he had to hurry. His skin prickled like a hunted deer’s and he had his bag in hand and one foot extended into the aisle so he could launch himself from the room the moment the bell rang.

He would have been remarkably successful if it weren’t for that the door he was hoping to exit out of was blocked by Cheryl Barrington, insufferable administration aid. She stood amidst the antsy, overtired class and sifted through the lot with her eyes until they landed on Louis. “Tomlinson,” she said, smug knowing enriching her voice, “the principal wants to see you.”

While the rest of the class was willing to stay a few moments later to titter and catcall the singled-out pariah, Niall knew ample cover when he saw it, and escaped down the hall.

He had no idea what Louis wanted of him, but he could only assume it was to heap further abuses on him in retaliation for his most recent losses. So deeply in contemplation was he on the topic that it almost escaped his attention that his locker had been vandalized yet again.

Under the words ‘WHALE OIL BEEF HOOKED’, some jokester had markered in the words ‘in the ass’.

Taking a marker of his own out of his locker, Niall tried to smudge the new words into obscurity. By so doing, he managed only to embolden them with a magenta halo that only made them flamboyant. Niall wrinkled up his face and said simply, “Fuck.”

~*~

They were walking back to Niall’s and it was terribly cold. Niall couldn’t help but notice that Harry’s coat wasn’t half as thick as his, and yet the boy’s hand was warm and dry in his. He held up their joint hands for a better look and, again, Niall’s hand was worse for the weather; where he had red, chapped, brittle skin, Harry’s hand, while perhaps slightly paler than usual, was still unchapped, strong and healthy.

“Why aren’t you cold?” he asked, looking up and seeing his breath hit the air.

Harry shrugged. “Good circulation,” he proposed, more a guess than an answer. “Strong blood. We’re mountain people.”

“Mountain people,” Niall laughed. “Sounds like trolls and ogres, that!”

“Well,” Harry demurred, suggesting it wasn’t incorrect to categorize him as a troll or an ogre. It made Niall laugh harder.

“That would make me a, um… Elf type?”

“Hobbit.”

Niall screamed and he couldn’t help but notice that the louder and more rambunctious he became, the merrier Harry looked. His expression bordered on accomplishment.

“Not a bloody hobbit, mate! I’m a Nazgul, me! One that rides the dragons!”

Harry laughed at that, and it was Niall’s turn to feel a sense of accomplishment.

They prattled, goading each other in whatever way they could into bigger laughs and even more esoteric Tolkien references. Having spent many an evening in the game café secretly geeking out with Zayn over the fantasy epic to end and inspire all fantasy epics, Niall had a distinct advantage over Harry, who had only seen but one of the movies.

They were still snickering over what it would look like to Silly Walk into Mordor when they got to Niall’s house. They slowed on the sidewalk and Niall turned to face the other boy, asking shyly, “You want to come in?”

Harry glanced up at the house and, not meeting Niall’s eyes, shook his head ‘no’.

“You don’t have to be shy. My parents won’t care. They don’t even notice me.”

“No,” Harry said, and Niall could feel the answer radiate down through his arm to where their hands were linked. Niall gave that unreasonably warm, resisting hand a squeeze to let him know he understood.

“I just have to take a shower, maybe get some more clothes. Then I’ll meet you at ours, ok?”

The other boy nodded and was very still, as if he neither wanted to go into the house, nor turn to take his own way.

“Y’all right, Harry?”

Another nod, but it didn’t shake off that uncanny unease Niall sensed from him.

“Harry,” he said, the past several days of crying on Harry’s shoulder while Harry stoically and gently endured and nurtured him coming to remind him of the debt he yearned to pay, “tell me.  You can trust me.”

The chinks started to show in Harry’s armor; a brief tug at the corner of his mouth, a squint. He was wrestling with his defensiveness and it looked quite painful. At last, a syllable and a half managed to squeak past the portcullis, “’t’s Cal.”

“Cal?” Niall clarified. The name had the same effect as a crack of thunder to Niall, shocking him to apprehension and alertness. Harry’s mother’s boyfriend’s name had made several appearances in their conversations and what followed it was never anything good.

Harry nodded, looking out past Niall’s tufty head, the exaggerated action of his mouth the only thing belying his upset. “Yeah. He’s moving in. Told me if I wasn’t out by the end of the week, he’d enlist me in the army.” He ducked his head and shrugged as if this was no big deal.

“Oh, fuck, Harry,” Niall said, taking hold of the canvas of Harry’s camo jacket and tugging him to the bench that sat on the Horan household’s veranda. He had to tug twice, since Harry was hesitant to even approach the house’s exterior.

“I mean, I don’t care or anything,” Harry said once Niall had him sat. “It’s not like I like living there, anyway.”

“Still,” Niall said softly, “you must be mad.”

Long, articulate fingers picked at imaginary dead skin on Harry’s lips as he fussed. Then he snatched his hand away just as quickly as he had lifted it. “Yeah. I don’t know. I mean, not really. It’s not like it matters. We have our house, right?”

He looked over at Niall as if he genuinely needed Niall’s confirmation before he could relax. His long legs were bouncing on his toes like pistons and Niall knew it wasn’t because of the cold. “Yeah,” Niall confirmed adamantly, hugging his boyfriend’s arm against his chest. “Yeah, and you can shower here, if you want.” He nodded at the house behind them.  “You can even put stuff in my room and we can raid the fridge. I got your back, mate.”

That bashful, boyish smile that Niall was convinced very few alive had ever seen graced Harry’s face. One of those incredibly warm, street fighter hands folded around Niall’s where it was clutched in Harry’s jacket. The anxiety that was churning throughout Harry’s frame let off the throttle and with a great sigh, Harry released the steam. “Thanks, man.”

In response, Niall leaned in and pressed a kiss into Harry’s gaunt, strained cheek.

~*~

Harry’s farewell kisses still hot on his lips, Niall hurried into the kitchen, flung wide the cupboard doors, visions of an everything casserole dancing before his eyes. Warm food was the only appropriate response to soothing his lover’s nerves and he was gathering the cans of tuna fish when the most unexpected sound happened.

“Niall!”

The boy nearly dropped his bounty.

It was his father’s voice, coming from the family room. Already primed for danger as he was, Niall felt himself start to shake. _Silliness_ , he told himself, _he probably wants to yell at you about taking shorter showers or something_.

His nervous system wasn’t buying it; it was further agitated by the sight of both of his parents standing in the little-used family room with sallow, heavy faces. His mother’s arms were crossed over her chest and his father had his chin tipped up into the air in an easily recognizable gesture of disapproval. There had been only once before in Niall’s life when he’d seen them thus configured and it had been to impart the news that, since Greg was gone, they were moving to the United States and there would be no further discussion on that.

“What’s going on?” Niall asked, looking between them.

“Put your bag down, Niall.”

The bag fell onto the sofa seemingly without Niall’s intention, since his mind was solely occupied with guessing at whatever matter had warranted such formality.

“The school called today, Niall,” his mother said, showing mercy. “They said you had been missing a lot of classes lately. They suggested,” she continued, her voice losing its driving force and becoming weak and uncertain, “that perhaps we arrange for you to see a therapist.”

“What?” Niall looked at his dad in confusion and when no answer was to be had there, he turned back to his mother. “A therapist? What the hell for?”

“The—They said that there was a—You’d—You’re a—“

“They said you should see a goddamn alienist to get that queer head of yours on right!” His father roared, violently coming alive.

“Bobby--!” Maura reached for her husband, but he moved fast toward Niall as if to grab him. Niall flinched backward, but his unhealed aches impaired his mobility and he stumbled, startled onto the floor. “Bobby, leave him alone! He’s been beat enough!”

“And so he bloody should be!” Niall looked up into his father’s rage-red face and saw something there that he’d seen before, but only in veiled glimpses; disgust, disdain, disappointment, but now those dreadful emotions had united into open hatred. “I should have beat him long ago! Should’ve beat him the moment I knew we got a bad one! I knew he was off since he was a bairn in his blanket! He wasn’t bloody built right!”

His fury redirected itself at his wife, who was clearly scrambling to inject the smallest bit of equanimity to the discourse and failing frightfully. “Only one!” Bobby railed at her, uplifting one rigid finger as if she needed a visual aid. “All my mates said it! Even your doozey, drunken sister said it! We had one good one and one dud! We had Greg and every damn Tom, Dick, and Harry said you can’t pull that trick again! You used up all your good stuff on Greg!” His father’s small frame shook as he sucked air in through his nostrils. The disappointment usurped the fury and though his face cooled from rose red to burning pink, it trembled about the cheeks and jowls. “Boy can’t even fight properly! Look at him, Maura! Look at him!”

He shifted to provide a clear line of sight to their son, sprawled and stunned on the floor.

“Look at him!” Bobby commanded again, disdain now painting him in sneers. Niall let out a weak, “Da, stop,” but that went unheeded.

“Are you going to stand up for him now?” Maura didn’t respond to her husbands disgust, but held her hands up in front of her as if to ward off an attack. It seemed to incense Bobby further. “You’ve got a queer son, woman! He’s got no direction, none of Greg in him! You want to defend him now? Give him the coddling and dandling that queered him in the first place? You birthed an abomination!”

“Da! Fuck’s sake!”

Niall had gotten to his feet in the primal need to protect his mother, but the blow he received on his cheek stopped him in his tracks. The room went quiet and time itself held its breath.

The slap had turned Niall’s head to the wall and his eyes locked onto the rose and violet needle work his aunt had made when Maura was pregnant with her first child. He couldn’t bring himself to look away, even as he felt his father come very near; so near he felt the warmth of his breath fall on his still-stinging cheek.

“You will get out of this house. You will get out of this house and you won’t come back.” The rose and violet needle work was starting to smudge and blur; then it became very clear again as the water that had obscured his vision fell away from his eye. “And if anyone ever asks you if you’re my son,” his father said, his voice wobbling and faulty with emotion, “You say you’ve never heard of no Bobby Horan.”

The sound his mother made cut him to the core of his being and would haunt him even after all other family hurts had fallen away. Heavy footsteps declared Bobby Horan’s departure from the room and Niall was finally able to close his eyes. His entire body was shaking as if his very atoms could no longer maintain their shape.

“Niall? Oh, Niall…”

He flinched when his mother put her hands on him. She backed away, at a loss for how to even comfort her own son. Uncomfortable in the silence, she began to bumble, “He was so fond of Greg, you know – I think him moving out was difficult on him and he—“

“Ma.”

The reproof silenced her and she snapped to action, taking hold of the sofa sleeve and batting it out as if to clean it of non-existent dust, all the while muttering nonsense about how the house was getting away from her, it was all these weekend activities with the girls, she didn’t know how Cynthia did it… She interrupted herself. She dropped her weight onto the sofa and burying her face in her hands, she let out one harsh, gasping sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she babbled, and Niall watched her and felt nothing.

From where he was standing he couldn’t see her tears, but saw her hands wipe at her face in frustration, then go back to fussing with the sofa sleeve she was holding. “What did I do wrong?” she asked, snorting and dabbing at her face. “Is it my fault that you’re—“

“Don’t fucking start that, ma,” Niall snapped with more venom than he knew he had in him.

His mother lifted her hands defensively again and whimpered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Still, Niall felt nothing. His cheek still stung, except for where his fallen tear had cooled and dried.

With a false chirpiness in her voice, Maura sat up straight and said, “Is it Louis? I had a feeling there might have been something between you when he came over—“

“Not now, ma.”

“He was such a nice boy. Very handsome—“

“We’re not fucking talking about it, ma!”

Maura let the hyper pleasant act fall away, for which Niall was grateful. “What will you do?” she asked.

“Um,” Niall said, closing his eyes as the shock began to fade. “Get my stuff, I guess.”

“No, I mean—“

“I know what you meant—“

“You won’t tell me?”

Niall pulled his bag back onto his shoulders and said simply, “No.”

“He’ll come round,” Maura said, rising to follow her son as he mounted the stairs to his room. He pulled a gym bag from his closet and threw inside the necessities – a few changes of clothes, computer, school things, a few comic books.

“Come back when you need to,” his mother was saying. “Maybe to do your laundry, that sort of thing. While he’s at work, he won’t even know. I know you’ll be at school then, but we’ll find a way…”

Niall went to the bathroom to gather his toiletries and there he saw Harry’s tooth, sitting on his shelf where he’d left it.

“Maybe during your lunch hour. Do you have a full hour for lunch? If you just bring them by, I’ll gladly do the wash; you just have to be sure to just pick them up. Niall? Niall, what’s that?”

Niall stuffed the tooth in his jeans and mumbled, “Nothing.”

When he turned to leave the bathroom, he saw his mother standing in the doorway, looking old and defeated. “You won’t tell me… anything?” she asked, and at last, her pathos touched him. He hoisted his gym bag on one shoulder and his backpack on the other before darting forward and kissing her cheek.

“His name is Harry. We take care of each other,” he said, giving her arm a final squeeze before he slipped past her, out of the home that was never his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, friends --
> 
> The whole thing is written! It's just a matter of me finding the time to sit down in a cafe and hammer it all out. And guess what? I've taken this week off. All the same, to hear from you would definitely keep me afloat :) Check me out at:
> 
> Twitter: @gvbutterworth  
> Facebook: GV Butterworth  
> Tumblr: gvbutterworth


	29. The Snows Start

The first week of living with Harry was like summer camp. They ate out of cans and washed their clothes in the gradually stiffening river. There was a designated rock formation they used as a shitter, since the intermittent rains made such a fine natural flusher. Sometimes they’d lie on the roof of their small shack, cuddled together against the cold on one of the few beams they trusted to hold their weight. They’d stare at the stars and make up fake constellations until the bitter chill and precariously creaking and holed roof tiles chased them back into their tiny shelter. They stole gas at the local 7-11 for their generator and when the rain got in, they took shelter at the local library, huddled together in the biographies section.

The second week of living with Harry meant every day after school when Niall came home, there was some new home improvement Harry had clearly spent the day perfecting. Monday evening, Niall returned to find a pile as uncomely as it was huge, comprised of what looked like nothing more than refuse.

“I got it from the junk yard. You can just take stuff.”

For a moment, Niall couldn’t determine where the voice had come from. But he quickly deduced that the figure perched on the roof with wildly blowing hair and streaks of tar on his face was not a newly erected weathervane, but in fact, Harry.

“What are you doing up there? You look a mess!”

Harry lifted his pitchy spade illustratively. “Fixing the roof.”

Niall could smell it – the little pot of tar Harry kept over a bunson burner that Niall recognized from the science room he’d just vacated.  It seemed Harry could pinch anything.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yep.”

That night, it had rained and not a drop disturbed them.

On Tuesday, the house looked much the same, but the junk pile was smaller. As Niall was trying to determine what was missing, Harry took his hand and said, “Made something for you,” before leading him into the woods.

The mattress; it was the filthy, stained, questionable mattress that Niall had made clear would, under no uncertain terms, ever be entering their house that had been missing from the junk pile. It was now strapped snuggly to the thick trunk of a sturdy aspen tree by cleverly-laced bungee cords. The job was well executed, but its purpose remained undetermined.

“What… is it?”

Harry, whose curly, greasy hair was now to his shoulders, and who was wearing the green flannel that Niall always spent an extra few minutes bashing against the rocks to clean, approached his new creation and abused it with two quick jabs, a cross, and an uppercut that would have knocked that tree’s lights out had it not been a tree.

“Because I can’t be with you all the time,” Harry said, somewhat sheepishly as if that was a legitimate failing. “Sometimes I worry.”

Much had changed at the school since Niall’s early days of relentless bullying; not the least of which was that Louis Tomlinson was no longer team captain. He still played, but the subtle whiff of possible homosexual activity was enough to spook Bartly into removing him from his position of honor. In his place, to confirm Bartly’s poor taste in humans, Liam had been promoted and his first act had been, predictably, to seat Carey in Niall’s vacated position.

While this had done much to mollify that particularly violent pack of animals, bullies were still bullies and Harry’s concern was warranted. There had been a few scuffles in the halls and Niall had noticed that teachers kept him perpetually in the corner of their eyes, just as they had done with Harry several months before. But Niall was cagier than Harry had been; he had grown remarkably deft at avoiding dark corners and at reading the countenance of his predators. However, Niall knew he was balancing on the edge of a blade and that, sooner or later, the tension would erupt in fists once again.

He came forward, interest prickling alongside the goosebumps on his skin. He threw a punch and felt the invigorating satisfaction of the springs giving as much as they could before the tree behind them punched back. He flexed his hands to warm up the muscles, then executed a flurry of boyish violence, complete with martial screaming.

His strikes weren’t like Harry’s. His fists didn’t go as deep into the mattress and he knew he was only throwing from the shoulder. If anyone other than Harry was watching, he would’ve been embarrassed by his performance.

“So, you’re gonna teach me, right?” he said, panting and laughing despite himself.

Harry didn’t even try to choke down his chuckles and shook his head at the smaller boy’s ridiculousness. He pinched the bridge of his nose with ringed fingers and snorted, “Yeah.”

“Every day after school?” Niall asked, gently tapping at the mattress with his knuckles as he abandoned it to advance on Harry.

Harry nodded again, watching him near.

“Now?”

He was close enough that Harry could now take hold of him by the back of his neck and softly kiss his lips. Niall closed his eyes and felt the tension that had troubled his belly during the day release and make him vulnerable again. It felt so impossibly good.

“Yep,” Harry said, once his lips were fit for speaking again. “Now put up your dukes and do like me.”

Wednesday, Niall came home frustrated. He was frustrated because Ms. Faris had taken him aside and asked him to be more mindful about his personal hygiene. She had broached the topic as delicately as possible, but that did nothing to quench the humiliation he felt. She had said to him, “You’re welcome to use my washer and dryer… Even my shower if you like, if you’ve been experiencing any troubles at home…” When she said it, he realized that ‘troubles at home’ had been the subject she had truly wanted to discuss anyway.

Troubles at home?

“Everything is just grand at home,” Niall had replied, and to interrupt further questioning, left her office and headed for his increasingly comfortable home in the woods.

He took it for granted that he would return and Harry would be there, and he would unload his troubles to that boy, who would offer him not only perspective, but the reminder that, as bad as things were, he wasn’t alone or unsupported.

But upon returning to their little home, Niall saw not only no home improvements, but no home improver. Maisie was there, present only as a lump under the already lumpy bedspread who distinguished herself only by shifting ever so slightly.

Niall went out to the woods behind the shed and called his lover’s name at the top of his lungs; the woods were theirs after all, and the boys took for granted that they could make as much of a racket in it as would anyone in their own home.

There was no response, however, and the white of the sky was beginning to fall in frothy flakes, so Niall deposited himself back in the shack.

He had rather forgotten what he had done previously when he needed to talk with someone before the days of living with Harry. It took him several moments of reviewing old memories for him to remember his notebook. He found the thing in Harry’s stack of Rolling Stones magazines.

It looked so different. He couldn’t put his finger on what way his notebook looked different; perhaps he had expected a different hue of green or maybe the handwriting on the cover seemed off. When he opened it and saw more of his own penmanship, it seeed like this journal had to belong to another human being entirely. He remembered writing the words, “I’m in love with a boy! His name is Louis Tomlinson!” but he remembered it in the way one remembered characters in a film: with no particular sensation of nostalgia or any emotional memory.

In fact, seeing the words made him smile. The boy who had written this seemed such a preposterous figure and Niall thought it genuinely funny to know that he himself had been that ridiculous boy. He wanted to go back in time and tell that boy he was a fool. He didn’t know whether he wanted to warn him or mock him about how his future was going to unfold.

The last entry had been a frantic, helpless attempt at reviewing the drama of Homecoming. No other entries had made their way into the book after that, since events had unfolded so quickly, there was no time for quiet self-reflection; as soon as there was, his dear Harry had assumed the position of the Keeper of Niall’s Secrets.

Harry was better than the journal.

Niall had still been in love with Louis Tomlinson on the night of homecoming. That particular sensation was one that Niall could still recall, even if he had no awareness of it in his present physiology.

While Louis’ attempts at contacting Niall had diminished in intensity, they hadn’t been entirely snuffed. In fact, Niall had the uncomfortable apprehension that Louis was biding his time, waiting for the moment that Niall was undefended and receptive before he tried again.

Increasingly, the former King of the School was seen hanging out with Nadja or Ty Jennings, or the rest of the stoners. Niall had run into them several times when ducking out during passing periods to sneak a quick cigarette.

Niall was smoking, now. He couldn’t remember why he didn’t start earlier and it had become such a necessary past time that he was willing to endure the tension of standing in the outside alcove with Louis, Nadja, and their ilk if it meant a smoke before his next period. He kept his head down as they all shared the space. His concentration shifted solely between his shoes and his cigarette, and he listened as Ty prattled on about how he was going to spend the summer touring with his band. No one believed him.

He could feel Louis willing him to look his way, but he never did.

When Harry finally came home, the sun had already set and Niall was already in bed with the little space heater turned on at full blast.

“Jesus, Harry, where’ve you been?”

Harry’s hair was stuck to his head and frozen and it looked like his nose had been running the whole way home. But he looked energized and confident as he shrugged the flannel coat off his shoulders and scurried under the blankets with Niall.

“Got a job,” he said, sniffing.

Niall used his sleeve to scrub the snot off Harry’s face, since he knew he would be kissing that face shortly. “A job?”

“Yeah. A real job. The 7-11 hired me to work for them two days out of the week.”

“The one we lift off of?”

“Yep.”

“Conflict of interest, that.”

“Not really.” Then Harry was wiggling his hips and fussing in his pockets and upsetting the cat from where she was curled on Niall’s knees. He produced two Payday candy bars, smiling brightly. “We can buy things, now.”

They curled together under the covers, snacking, shivering, chatting, and discussing seriously whether they should take Ms. Faris up on her offer of a hot shower.

Thursday produced an honest-to-God rain gutter. It lined the gabled roof of their little house with rusty silver, and was so garish and unexpected, it reminded Niall of Dean Ross the first day he showed up with braces on.

Niall just loved it and listened with wonder and adoration as Harry walked him through how he’d gone about erecting it. They stood in front of the structure, their shoes getting wetter as they stood in the snow, Niall tucked securely into Harry’s armpit.

“Harry,” he said, interrupting the man’s dissertation on reinforcing rotting wood, “how did you get to be so fucking good at all this house stuff?”

His lover’s shoulders lifted slightly in a comfy shrug. “Just figuring it out, I guess.”

“So when’re you going to build a fireplace?”

Harry snorted and ducked his head. “I’m not that good.”

“No?” Niall asked, knowing that ruthless teasing was his most charming flirting tactic. “How you going to keep me warm, then?”

“Body heat,” Harry returned, leaning in to nuzzle his cheek with his chapped, chilly nose.

“Doesn’t sound viable, mate.”

“Body heat and lots of friction.”

Niall laughed out loud; very loud and unselfconscious and free. “That gas station of yours sell any alcohol? We should celebrate. We have a proper house. Needs a proper house-warming.”

Harry nodded. Then he folded his lips and furrowed his brow, giving thought to something that troubled him. He gave another nod as if he’d discussed the issue within himself and his two dissenting sides came to an agreement. “You can invite your friends over, if you want,” he said, backed by his own convictions.

“My friends?”

“Zayn and Hannah.”

“Oh.”

Niall still considered the pair his closest friends, but all the same, inviting them into his private world with Harry felt uncomfortable. Something was happening between the three of them. Just as they had started making their own private world between the two of them that Niall had no place in, Niall knew he was doing the same with Harry. These two worlds didn’t align well.

Niall was grateful to have friends that he could sit with at lunch, friends that knew his backstory and didn’t stumble into casual questions about his parents, friends that provided a buffer from the less tolerant student body. But increasingly, when Zayn and Hannah fell into talking about board games and television shows and video games, Niall felt himself falling into disinterest. Perhaps it was that the enormity of what had happened to him made past times and high school interests seem trivial and distracting. He somehow felt older than them, like a parent eavesdropping on his child’s conversations. They, likewise, were at a loss as to how to address Niall’s situation. One night, Zayn had offered to have Niall over on the sofa, saying that if things were still rough with his parents, he could sleep there. It took Niall a moment to realize that Zayn couldn’t even comprehend what exactly he had meant when he told him his parents had disowned him. Why should he? Zayn and Hannah both had very happy households, where no family spat went further than spending a night in defiance on a mate’s sofa.

“No,” Niall said softly to Harry, reaching up to take a lock of Harry’s hair that was slowly starting to dread. “Just the two of us. Is that ok? Just the two of us?”

“Yeah,” he said and although he didn’t show it, Niall knew he was relieved. “Just the two of us.”

Friday, Niall eagerly awaited the sound of the bell, visions of the decadent evening ahead of him making him unable to concentrate on a damn word Mrs. Tindell uttered. The 7-11, Harry promised him, carried not only whiskey, but hot chocolate packets for individual sale; hot chocolate packets with those tiny marshmallows inside. For his own contribution, Niall had bummed a few cigarettes around school and Ed had even given him a new lighter. Spun to truly romantic ideations, Niall further determined to swipe some of the candles from the theater’s scene shop to really set the mood.

They were easy enough to steal; they fit perfectly into his backpack and the scene shop was dark. If anything, the only trade off was that he wouldn’t be leaving the building under the protective crush of rush hour and he would be exposed as he walked past the stadium. The weather hadn’t been favorable for boxing lessons and Niall’s left hip hadn’t healed properly, so Niall knew he had to be cagey.

He surveyed the scene as he deftly unlocked his bike from the rack and clocked Carey, Jared, and Max hovering at the stadium gates, no doubt waiting to hear if coach would let them out of practice for the half foot of snow that had fallen during the day. Niall had to scoff at them; in Ireland, they’d play in a half foot of icy slush, laughing the whole time.

“Pox bottles,’’ Niall murmured under his breath, using his bare hands to crack the frozen lock open.

He figured he’d be pretty safe if he ducked through the rows of the parking lot. He wouldn’t be able to ride his bike over the deep and icy trenches left by cars, but he was hoping his stealth would make up for his lack of speed. There were still a few cars left and he was determined to move as quickly as his hip allowed him; Harry assured him it would probably pain him until the cold snap broke.

All went swimmingly, despite his uneven snail’s pace, until he heard a voice behind him call his name. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was; he was all too familiar with the pattern of the footfall he heard crunching in the snow. He hunched further into his coat and, despite reminding himself that he was in an emotional place where he could handle this confrontation, he quickened his pace, struggling with his bike through the snow.

“Hey, wait up! Niall, wait up!”

Hiding at this point was out of the question. He would’ve just looked foolish.

“Just a second, ok?”

When Louis raced around in front of him and took hold of the handlebars of Niall’s bike, Niall had no option but to grind to a halt. He didn’t want to meet Louis’ eyes, so instead he stared at his shirt. It didn’t pass his notice that instead of his typically cheerful, cheeky stripes or irreverent braces, Louis was more and more commonly wearing plain black t-shirts under his bulky, army-green feather down coat.

“What?” Niall asked, wanting nothing more than to be on his way to Harry. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk, man, Jesus!” Louis snorted, as if everything between them was jolly and Niall’s apprehension was unjustified. What’s more, it was a feint he was good at. Like one of the fey, he wove an attractive façade of amiability and friendship that had Niall actually questioning if everything should indeed be cool between them, now.

When he risked a glance at the boy’s face, he saw that Louis had grown out as much of a beard and mustache as he was capable and had dark rings under his eyes. His skin looked paper thin and he’d broken out across his forehead and cheeks.

He had to wonder if his own transformation was as equally impressive as Louis’. But for all his outward transformations, Niall wasn’t certain he didn’t see that same wolf peering out through so much fleece.

He gave an experimental tug of his bike, trying to get it back into his control, but Louis exerted his strength and kept it locked down fast. “So, I was thinking,” Louis said, his voice, his volume and his pitch ratcheting up as his frustration interfered with his spellcasting, “maybe we should hang out again. I mean, I dropped off the soccer team, so my evenings are free, too. Can you believe they made Liam team captain? I mean, he’s good at what he does, but that doesn’t make you fit for a leadership position, does it? Anyway, you want to come over to mine, tonight? I’ll drive you. It’s too cold to bike back to yours, man.”

“We’re not hanging out, Louis,” Niall said, his confusion drawing his face into a frown. He would have laughed if it weren’t for that Louis was so unreadable to him. For an instant, he saw a flash of Louis’ teeth in a bright snarl and he jerked the handlebars hard enough to almost make Niall slip on the thick snow.

“Well, then I’ll come to yours! Is that better?”

“Louis,” Niall said, irritation eroding his patience, “do you seriously think that because all your other friends and slags abandoned you, you can get a free blow job out of me? Is that what you’ve been trying to get all this time? A fucking blow job? Let go of my bike and leave me alone.”

They struggled for a moment over the bike until Louis eventually let go of it and, alarmingly, took hold of Niall instead. The pavement on which they were tussling had been salted, so the ice had enough grip for cars to traverse it safely, but still provided little traction for trainers. It was really a question of who lost their footing first.

“No! This isn’t about one stupid blow job, Niall!” Louis hissed, his voice desperate. “You want me, you idiot! You have to still want me! I read your fucking journal! Don’t pretend you don’t still want me!”

Niall realized that his attempts to keep his bike upright were interfering with his ability to do the same for himself, but when he released it, it was already too late. He’d lost his balance enough to allow Louis to grapple him up against the side of someone’s prized VW van. Regrettably, the van’s size provided ample cover for whatever Louis wanted to do to him. Niall tried to lift his arms to defend himself, but Louis was using all his weight to keep him pinned and Niall only had one hand free to futilely push at his shoulder.

“Louis, get your hands off—“

But Louis was kissing him hard and that was when it registered with Niall that the boy was completely out of control. One of Louis’ hands was fisted harshly in his coat and the hand that was pulling his hair and controlling his head was shaking.

This was the boy who so lived for his peer’s approval that he would jump off the roof of a house to amuse them; a boy who would participate in the torture and humiliation of someone he actually liked if it meant gaining more respect from a group of boys he didn’t; a boy who violated the pure love of a girl with an honest heart because he wanted to rack up notches on his bedpost.

As much as he tried not to, Niall felt sorry for him, which was the only thing that kept him from crushing Louis’ balls up into his body.

“Louis, stop—“

“Shut up and kiss me back.”

Louis was working his knee between Niall’s thighs and Niall couldn’t breathe for how insistent Louis’ mouth was on him.

“Stop!” he gasped. “Stop!”

The more he struggled, the more Louis pressed. He focused the bulk of his weight onto Niall’s janky hip, which made Niall hiss and whine like a leaky balloon.

“Kiss me like you did at the dance,” Louis demanded, sinking his teeth into the soft of Niall’s lip. “God, you wanted to fuck me so bad, then. I should’ve let you. I should’ve let you take me on that fucking counter top—“

He punctuated this by driving his hips into Niall’s and biting down on his neck so hard, Niall screamed with enough violence to make his voice break.

“Babe,” Louis panted, manic, “I know you like it, but you gotta be quie—“

The final plosive of that word was lost and Louis and all his oppression was ripped away, nearly taking Niall to the ground with the force. Once he was righted and assured his faulty knees would hold him, he looked up and saw Harry.

He had Louis’ feather down bunched in his fist, just waiting for that moment when Louis got his bearings, looked Harry in the eye and figured out exactly what was going to happen next. Niall saw the precise instant when it all clicked: Louis glanced from Harry to Niall, then back to Harry. His eyes went wide, watching with dread as Harry’s fist came up, every knuckle aimed squarely at his face.

“Aw, fuck,” he whispered, a half second before Harry’s fist crashed into its target. Louis’ head snapped back and he clattered against the VW and hit the pavement.

One punch – a punch that had been a long time coming – One solitary punch would be the beginning and end of this fight.

Niall stood stalk still despite the adrenaline that was pumping through his veins. Louis was still conscious, but his brains had been boggled as he flailed to find purchase with the car’s door handle and right himself. The snow was blossoming red from where his nose dripped onto it.

Niall glanced over at Harry and found the boy a bit sheepish, clearly uncertain as to whether he had done the right thing. Niall grinned at him and said, “Thanks, mate,” to let him know he had.

“No way,” Louis said, trying to stem the flow from his nose on what was probably his father’s coat. He had managed to get to his feet, but he wisely kept his distance. “No fucking way. You two? Together? You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry gave Niall a look that said it was Niall’s choice how to play this. After a deep breath, Niall reached out and tangled his fingers into Harry’s. He didn’t waste words on Louis, just gave Harry an affirming smile and squeezed his hand.

“No fucking way!” Louis yelled, his voice pitching beyond consternation and into desperation. “This isn’t happening! This isn’t fucking happening! It isn’t fair!”

Niall knew this was stupid. He knew that any public attention that had grown disinterested in him would come ricocheting back to him, now. Especially when Louis started screaming at the top of his voice, “Fags! Fags!”

In silent communion, Niall and Harry broke into the open aisle of the parking row, hands still intertwined. They didn’t even part for Harry to right the fallen bicycle.

“Fags!” Louis roared behind them, his accusation drawing notice.

Thanks to Niall’s troublesome hip, their progress down the parking aisle was slow, giving onlookers ample time to get an eyeful of the two boys holding hands. They passed Carey and the football crew, all of them only so brave as to sneer and talk amongst themselves, but not a one of them daring to say a fucking thing or enter the boxing radius of Harry’s reach.

“Fags! Fucking fags! Fags!”

The cries had less fire to them now. They were weak, their echo fell flat and in the resulting silence, Niall could swear he heard the sound of sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear from you :) Only one chapter left and I'm getting emotional :x
> 
> Twitter: @gvbutterworth  
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	30. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. I would love to hear what you think :) I have a question for you at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much for bearing with me. I don't know you, dear readers, but your support has been truly impactful and I am so grateful to you all. :)

When they made love that night, it was entirely different than any sex they’d had before. They were both equal parts shaken and exhilarated, but it wasn’t just that. They had both burnt the cloying bones of the spectre of first love that had haunted them and threatened to haunt their entire relationship. Now they were free. But it wasn’t just that, either. Niall sat in Harry’s lap, his arms wound around Harry’s neck and his legs locked around his waist. Harry likewise held him very close and kept his face nuzzled into the crook of Niall’s neck and shoulder.

They rocked together with the natural perfection of ocean waves; Harry’s hips would crest and break against Niall’s and then the wave would fold under and back out to sea as Niall curled his hips back and down to subdue Harry’s. The moon that pushed and pulled at them likewise cooled the rivulets of sweat that trickled down Niall’s spine.

It was cold outside and Niall could see the heat of their breaths and bodies steaming the insides of the shack’s windows. He wasn’t certain, but in the glimpses in which his eyes were open, he thought he saw that it was snowing again. They were relaxed and indulgent from the whiskey and hot chocolate and Niall’s candles were still bright and burning.

Their rhythm changed when Harry bucked up into him so hard that Niall’s head flung back and he let out a helpless, strangled moan as the pleasure made his mind go white. Still, he didn’t come. Harry bucked into him again and now Niall was riding the waves instead of part of them. He gripped Harry’s tattooed shoulders, but his fingers slipped on his lover’s sweat slicked skin. He opened his eyes and saw Harry watching him worshippingly.

“I can’t—much longer,” Niall warned him, feeling as if they’d spent hours stoking the glowing furnace in his belly to the point of such pressure and power, he feared releasing it might undo him.

Harry nodded and Niall could tell by the near-painful throb of his cock inside him that his lover was close as well. Niall shifted, intending to get on his front so Harry could nail him from behind; a position which great experimentation taught him would lead to explosive orgasms.

But Harry took hold of his hips and ground him in his lap. His voice was thick with panting and lust-drunk when he begged, “Like this.” Niall’s knees were getting sore and he chafed where his thighs kept rubbing against Harry’s, but his lover drove forward into him and they were the ebb and flow of the same wave again and Niall willingly succumbed to the paradise of unity.

He didn’t come right away. He may as well have been in the cradle of Harry’s lap for another few hours for all he knew, falling deeper and deeper into tantric delirium. Harry’s heartbeat was his own and he thought he could feel Harry’s blood in his own veins. His lungs were one part his and one part his lovers; that his muscles were weak was no matter since Harry’s strength was also his. They were in an endless kiss, where they fed on each other’s moans and sighs and Niall wasn’t certain that he hadn’t crested through hundreds of small orgasms, one after the other purifying his very genetic structure. His eyes would unshutter on occasion, either to fall into the open, vulnerable green of Harry’s or to map the perfection of Harry’s face in pleasure. In one instance, his open but far away eyes may or may not have caught a glimpse of a figure at the window, cheeks pink and blue eyes scrambled with pain and confusion, but the steam and snow obscured everything that wasn’t welcome in the world of Niall and Harry’s shared passion. He felt his lover’s tongue graze over the shell of his ear and the flush of pleasure knocked Niall’s eyes closed again and whatever image he thought he saw was gone.

~*~

Things were suddenly abnormal. Niall couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was not how it had ever been before. A thought that was more pure Knowledge than Thought arose before him and it was this: In linear time, he was customarily in a body, with an identity, in space. Niall, who at that point out of time, wasn’t really Niall, but an indistinguishable part of limitless white light, thought it might be prudent to return to that body, that identity, and Time.

This would forever stand as the best orgasm of Niall’s life.

This would forever stand as the best orgasm of Niall’s life and he would, until the instant of his death (which from this perspective, Niall knew would come at 89, of an incurable internal infection. He would forget this as soon as he returned), wonder what would have happened had he made some other choice – any other choice – than to return to his body, his identity, and Time. However, in his inexperience, he only thought to hurry back to these things in case his body was doing something embarrassing.

It was the opposite of waking up from sleep. To come out of sleep was to watch the forms of darkness burn away and dissolve into nothing by the power of morning light. Returning from his orgasm saw light take shape and become dense enough to cast shadows and create spaces were light was not. How incomprehensible, Niall thought, that light itself could create places where light was not.

He returned in degrees, becoming first aware of the restrictions of his body; then that he was in Time and Space; then that there was no doubt expectations of those who maintained a place in Time and Space. Eventually, it occurred to him that his name was Niall Horan and that he should probably open his eyes at least. Only after so doing did he become aware that he was in Harry’s shack, with his boyfriend Harry, and that his thighs and backside were indecently wet.

“Shit,” he said, since what the hell could anyone possibly say. Rustling near the dresser made him lift himself slightly to investigate. Harry, fully dressed and presentable, was crouched on the floor, fussing with his backpack; he stopped and smiled when he saw Niall was awake.

“How long was I gone?” Niall asked.

“Gone?” Harry laughed.

“Yeah,” Niall said, reaching for him. Harry obliged, leaving his task and coming to the bed to sit at his lover’s side. “I, like, disappeared. Niall disappeared and I – I think I met God, Harry.”

“What was he like?”

“Um… bright, I guess.”

Harry’s expression was slowly crumpling into something pink and cheeky and before long, he was chuckling helplessly to himself.

“What?” Niall asked, trying to resist Harry’s infectious good humor and failing. He thought he was being laughed at, but when he saw Harry’s self-congratulatory grin, he knew that wasn’t the case. “Oh!” Niall laughed, tackling Harry back onto the bed. “I see! You’re going to take credit for it, are you?”

Harry’s laugh was wild and primal and he looked every bit as young as he was as he defended himself from his boyfriend’s pinches and tickles. “I made you see the face of God!” he brayed.

“Hey!” Niall protested. “I’m serious, here!” He wasn’t selling it for how he was chortling. “I had an incredible thing happen! I was out of my body or something!”

The recollection of it was fading with every second that passed. He closed his eyes and tried to capture the dwindling shape of it, but he was distracted by the attractive sound of Harry’s soft chuckles winding down. Niall opened his eyes and saw his boyfriend, fully dimpled and passively receptive to a full report. “Tell me,” he said, stroking a hand down Niall’s bare arm.

Niall settled atop him for more comfortable storytelling and regaled him as best he could with what few details remained. Harry listened without interruption as usual, his hand tracing soothing circles on the small of Niall’s back as he struggled to recall things mortal minds weren’t meant to comprehend.

After he came to a stumbling halt, Niall looked to the man he was employing as a mattress and awaited a response. He got none. Suddenly shy, he shifted uncertainly and asked, “Have you ever experienced anything like that?”

The furrow that appeared between Harry’s brows belied his depth of concentration.

“When I was in juvie,” Harry began, “I got in a fight and I fell and cracked my head on someone’s footlocker.” His eyes shifted over the support beams of the ceiling as the memory arose in his mind. “I thought I died,” he said simply.

“Did you?”

The moment of confusion on Harry’s face made the joke a success and Niall fell into victorious laughter. As soon as Harry got it, he laughed as well, giving Niall a fake throttle before smooching him soundly on the cheek. “No,” Harry said, rolling to trap his smaller lover beneath him. “I didn’t die.”

Niall was still snortling when he asked, “What did you see?”

Harry just stroked his dread locks back atop his head and looked away. Niall’s amusement settled into homey familiarity in his chest and he stroked over Harry’s stubbled cheek and pleaded softly, “You can say. It’s just me.”

Harry shrugged to undercut any potential profundity in his next words. “Well, Heaven, I guess.”

They sat in silent communion for a moment. Then Niall said, “Heaven.”

“Yeah. The white light like you said. Just came to with a bitching headache, though.”

“Harry,” Niall stroked the scruffy ridge of his boyfriend’s jaw, enjoying the scratch, “do you think we went to the same place?”

They had run out of gas for the generator, so the room was silent and would have been unbearably cold if it weren’t for how closely they were entangled. It felt as if they were the only two men on earth, so it was inevitable that Harry spoke the conclusion they had both come to, “Yes.”

That single syllable rang throughout Niall’s frame and the great rushing of his deepest energies danced in agreement with Harry’s assessment. He flung his arms around his dearest friend’s neck and with a helpless whimper, kissed him over and over. He was frenzied with newly unleashed power and he scrambled to tear off the ratty jeans that kept him from his lover’s hips.

“Let’s do it now,” Niall panted between kisses. “Let’s go there, now! Both of us together. Take me. Take me so hard we both go flying!”

It took him a moment to realize the hands on his weren’t working towards nudity, but rather batting him away. “I can’t. I can’t right now.”

“What?” Niall barely heard him over his own desire. “Why? Why not?”

“I have to go,” Harry said, sitting up and securing his pants with a reluctant zip.

“Go where?”

“My house.”

“Why?”

When Harry simply rose, ignoring the inquiry, Niall tried again, somewhat desperately, “Harry, why?”

Harry stood at his dresser, pretending to be engrossed in choosing a jumper to wear. “Um,” he said, stalling. “Call told me he wanted me to move all my shit out by the time he got back tonight, so…”

The isolation of their merry, loving psychonautic little bubble was shattered. Niall was reminded of the harsh world that awaited them outside of these walls – light made dense enough to cast deep shadows.

“Oh, shit,” Niall said, his skin, his heart and his mind cooling rapidly. “What did your mum say?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said, settling on a navy sweatshirt with planetary symbols down the front.

“She’s really gonna let him kick you out of your own damn house?”

“Like she gives a fuck! A length of cock means more to her than me!”

Niall watched as his generous, languid sweetheart transformed into the violent, menacing bully he had first known him to be.

“Ok,” Niall said, fearful of Harry riling himself up into a fury. “That’s ok. We have a real home here, right?”

When his love didn’t respond right away, Niall said compassionately, “Breathe, Harry.”

The sudden gasp of air attested that Harry hadn’t been.

“Are you… going to be able to do this?”

The idea of Harry no longer having any ties to that dark place was very attractive, but letting Harry at his most volatile loose in that house felt very much out of the purview of the wise. “Maybe I should go with you—“

Niall made a move to rise, but he heard, “No.”

The boy at the dresser finally unlocked and came over to where Niall was erect on his knees. “No. I’ll be ok.”

Harry stroked through his hair, willing Niall to see that he was a calm, rational human being who could handle this.

“Are you sure?” Niall’s doubt was apparent.

“Yes,” Harry supplied, willing his feathers to unruffle after being questioned. He even went a step further, knowing he had to convince his little love. “I have to do this. I have to talk to my mom. There’s shit I have to say to her.”

That was a damn good argument and, try though he did, Niall couldn’t for the life of him construct a counter argument. “Uh—I—Ok,” he said, as if he actually had the power to stop Harry in the first place. As a final reassurance, Harry kissed his forehead and mumbled into it, “I’ll be gone before Cal gets home, anyway.”

Niall watched as Harry pulled on the ratty, greasy flannel that served as his winter coat and said, “And then you’ll come straight back, yeah?”

“Miss me already?” Harry grinned, moving to dump some old tools and bike paraphernalia out of his backpack to make room for the things he would be bringing home.

Niall still wanted to feel him between his thighs and he flushed all the way down to his nipples. “No! Well, I mean, yes, but—I’m just a little nervous. I know how you … get. I don’t want anything to happen.”

The dimples disappeared immediately and the bag hit the floor. Those powerful, rain gutter-building hands were in his hair, making him crane his neck to meet fathomless, intense green eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen.” Niall’s breath hitched softly. “I’ll be back before you know it,” Harry continued, “and we can fuck until we both come so hard we see the face of God together.”

Niall gave a daffy chuckle. “You swear?”

“I swear.”

~*~

Niall tried to use homework as a distraction, but it wasn’t working. He wanted Harry back with him with an intensity that increased with every passing instant. However, he knew part of respecting his beloved was trusting him to take care of himself. Second best to the arms of his lover was, as everyone knew, a cat. He dropped his pencil, and from his place on the mattress called, “Maisie?”

The shack was suddenly too quiet and he was eerily aware of his solitude. “Maisie?”

He tossed the notebook aside, where it would end its days and began to search. “Maisie puss?” he tried again, opening the drawers of the dresser to see if she’d tucked herself away there. It wasn’t uncommon for their feline friend to be absent, but at this time, it only served to unnerve Niall further. He took up the food dish that had a small bit of kibble left over from Maisie’s dinner and threw on whatever woolies he could spare the time to put on.

He turned to the woods and called for her, quieting himself only to shake the food dish and let the echo of dried kibble carry as far as it may. When no subsequent mewing returned, Niall started to wander. He went to the sidewalk, shaking his little plastic beckoner, and if there was a black Audi with its lights off parked a few yards away from their little shack, Niall was too distracted to notice it.

He was jogging now, forgetting to keep quiet to let the food dish do his work. “Maisie! Maisie!” He was halfway past the woods, his cheeks flushed pink and panting beyond what his exertion demanded when he heard the soft sound of an adolescent kitty emerging from the underbrush.

“Maisie?”

In a moment she appeared, the white of her coat contrasting starkly against the black of the woods. She screamed at him as she pattered forward and Niall woofed back, “Oh, thank God.” She rubbed herself somewhat frantically against his shins, but when he put down the food dish, she showed no interest in eating. She just kept screaming at him.

“Hey,” he said, lifting her dirty little form into his arms. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She dug her claws into his forearm and kept meowing. Maisie was always talkative, but this did little to soothe the uncanny sense of dread that was plaguing him.

“Ok, fuck this,” Niall said, securing her firmly to his chest. “We’re going to go find Harry.”

Heedless of the dark and his lack of a flashlight, he plunged into the forest. The moon was bright and full and did much to aid Niall on his journey. He didn’t have the use of his arms to help balance himself because of the still-meowing cat and he only had a faded memory of vague directionality to guide him to Harry’s.

When he emerged on the other side of the woods, he recognized the row of houses and knew he would recognize Harry’s when he saw it. However, it wasn’t with his eyes that he located Harry’s, but with his ears. Just when Niall thought he might have passed his intended target, he heard a chilling shriek and the sound of male yelling only two houses down. Ice in his heart, Niall knew the noises were from the Styles’ and Niall began to run.

He passed the derelict yards and the raised voices were joined by a loud metallic rattling and banging. When he reached his desired destination, he saw the lawn littered with things he knew to be Harry’s: a pile of his clothes that looked as though they had been fouled by dirt and perhaps something worse, several of his records, the slip cases torn and the vinyl themselves smashed. What looked like high school yearbooks had their pages torn out and even a game of Monopoly had been scattered across the lawn as if the game pieces were seedlings.

Most alarming was the human fracas, the narrative whereof Niall’s mind was working frantically to deduce. The first thing he comprehended was Sheila Styles, alarmingly off-balance, grappling frantically at a row of trashcans before she fell to the hard-packed earth and immediately threw up.

Niall’s first assumption was that she was drunk again, but when she lifted her head to see with swollen eyes, Niall saw blood pouring from her nose and he immediately knew she’d been hit. It was simple to locate the probable culprit: A man, whom Niall could only presume to be Cal, heavily mustachioed, adorned in a trucker hat that sat askew on his head, his skin pink and raw as hamburger and who stood a full half foot over Harry, was attempting to tear said boy’s head off.

When the grappling, roaring duo stumbled over one of the broken down lawn chairs, the metallic rattle!bang was cue enough for Maisie to leap out of Niall’s arms and take for cover. Niall likewise was spurred to action and began to fumble with the combination lock that held the gate closed.

“What’s the combination?” he screamed at the woman whose eyes were rolling about in her head, and Niall could only guess that in addition to having been struck, she was several different kinds of inebriated. She struggled to locate him and when she did, she began to sob. “My boy!” she sobbed, the tears further obscuring her vision and adding mucous to the mess down pouring from her nose, “My boy! He’s going to kill my boy!”

The lock was a lost cause, but Niall launched himself up the fence. When he landed on the other side, the uneven hard-packed earth forced the ball of his femur hard into the socket of his hip and he crumpled with a yelp. Rising as swiftly as he could, he realized his hip was shot and he could only bear so much weight on that leg. His attention shifted immediately at the sound of flesh and bone making contact, and men screaming. He would swear it took him less than a heartbeat to conquer the chain link fence, but a heartbeat was more than ample time for the situation to shift drastically. Where Harry had fallen, the bear of a man on top of him having every intention of crushing his life from him, Harry had wriggled himself in reach of an axe.

“Harry--!”

But Harry didn’t hesitate. He swung and Niall saw that looming personification of animalistic rage rear back with a cavernous roar. Cal tried to scramble to his feet, but Harry’s wild swing had caught him in the knee and the damaged limb was even less useful than Niall’s. He crumbled to the ground, hissing curses and threats.

Harry army-crawled a safe distance away before he got his feet under himself. He rose with the axe still gripped tightly in one fist while, with his other hand, he pawed at his gasping throat. His eyes were watering and Niall was sick to see that his lips were blue where they weren’t red with blood.

Niall hobbled a few steps forward to – well, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps to get Harry inside, or to call the police, or to at least take that damn axe away from his lover, when he was stopped by the most vicious voice he’d ever heard. At first, he thought it was coming from the fiery pit of the earth’s core itself, but the he realized it was Cal. Defeated as he was, crumpled to the firmament like a scarecrow knocked off its perch, the man started speaking.

“You missed, you skeevy little bastard!” he spat.

Harry, breathing normally now, looked up.

“You missed!” Cal spat again, froth and spittle in his moustache. “You missed, you pussy wanna-be killer! What are you, a fag or an axe murderer? You piece of shit! Prove it, punk! Prove to me you’re a fucking man! I fucking dare you to kill me, you prison bitch!”

Niall couldn’t tell if the man was drunk or insane. Every one of his instincts was on alert, just as they would be around a poisonous snake and he felt paralyzed. “Harry,” he said warily, willing his boyfriend to step away from this toxic creature, but Harry didn’t seem to even be aware he was there. And so it came to pass that Harry Styles, the boy who had become Niall’s world, stood bloody and frenzied, wielding an axe over the man he had vowed to kill.

“He’s going to kill my boy!”

Niall had forgotten about Mrs. Styles, but was reminded with a sudden blow to his shoulder that capitalized on his injured hip and brought him down hard. She was on his back and he couldn’t tell if she was trying to use him as a crutch or to beat him. The terror and confusion made her strong and her fingers dug into him like spikes. He could smell the sour alcohol on her breath as she took hold of the back of his neck in a vice like grip and cried again, “They’re going to kill each other!”

Niall knew it was true. Harry’s slack expression and glassy eyes were what terrified him the most. It was the face of a man who had no belief in a future and whose pain made him blind and cruel. His dirt- and blood-caked, callous hand tightened its grip on the wooden handle, making the angry, red wedge bob eagerly.

Niall didn’t breath. He didn’t dare move for fear that a sudden movement might startle one of the two men to violence. But that seemed to be what Cal wanted. He watched Harry with manic delight, on his knees but still exerting his dominance over the boy towering above him.

“Kill me!” he roared. “Kill me, you useless faggot! You know you want to! You know what you are! You know what you are!”

He lunged for Harry, but the damage of his leg was too crippling and gruesome for it to provide much thrust. All the same, Harry flinched back savagely, flinging himself into the side of the house with a loud bang. It made Cal laugh. The man’s face was rosy and vibrant, so frighteningly alive and powerful. “Coward!” he spat, as if Harry had just proved it so. “You’re a goddamn coward!”

Harry, glaring through a gash across his right eye that would never heal, joined his second hand on the axe shaft, bringing the man crawling on the ground into ecstasies. “Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!” he chanted. Harry winced, breathing shallowly and choking on every other breath. Tears and sweat poured down his overheated face and the axe was shaking in his hands.

“That’s right, punk!” Cal’s stray dog voice ground into their ears. “Imagine how good it will feel, huh? Cutting me to bits!”

“Harry—“ Niall started, but Sheila was still clinging to him; when he started to move, she gave a shriek and clawed at the neck of his shirt. “Don’t leave me!” she gasped, more mucus than air coming out. “Oh, God, don’t leave me!” She flung her weight into him and even as Niall grappled with her hands, he knew he couldn’t rise as long as she was on top of him.

“Don’t leave me!” the woman wailed again and Niall knew she was seeing through a window to the past, to the moment that set the present in motion. He finally caught hold of her wrists, but she had a grip intended to save her life and that of her son.

“Harry!” Niall tried again, tearing his voice to break the enchantment Cal seemed to have woven over them all.

“It’s the only satisfaction you’ll ever get in life, you little shit stain,” Cal continued as Harry lifted the axe ever further, lost and mesmerized. Niall just started screaming. He screamed Harry’s name, he screamed for him to stop, but his voice simply merged with the wailing woman’s and neither could outpace Cal’s sorcery.

The axe achieved the apex of Harry’s reach and Niall’s heart broke; broke open so perfectly, so completely that, despite the pain and destruction of that organ, something simultaneously broke loose.

“I love you! Harry, I love you!” and though it was just a sound, it rode on the light that Niall had found so recently, in the arms of his lover; that very light that had been the space that Niall wasn’t when he and Harry made love; that light that he and Harry had made together.

As it had before, its presence had left Niall both slightly blind and deaf, but he was present enough to notice that Harry was now looking at him. Niall could tell that this was the first moment Harry had even seen him. He stared, as if Niall was an impossible apparition, his eyes startled and disoriented.

“I love you,” Niall said again. This time they were simply words, but the blitzkrieg of light had done its work. The axe fell from its peak and became insecure and flimsy in Harry’s grip.

“I love you, too,” Harry said, simply and sincerely.

Suddenly, everything seemed very still and Niall realized how hard his heart was beating, and how his shirt was soaked through with sweat.  Harry’s mother was whimpering against his shoulder, but she was calmer, resigned, shaking out the last of it.

“Who the hell is this fag?”

Cal was likewise transformed. His mania had been unmade, and he seemed to finally become aware of the precarious situation of his knee. He hugged his leg against his chest like a helpless child, and with the power dynamic suddenly ripped out of his favor, he began to tantrum like a child. “This your little faggot boyfriend, queer?” he lashed out. Harry spared him a glance, but was otherwise unresponsive, which seemed to infuriate Cal further. “Maybe he’d like to choke on my dick, huh!” he barked, finding a discarded, empty beer can and throwing it with all his might at Harry. “Maybe he’d like that, you piece of shit!”

The beer can and the attempt at incitement both bounced off Harry with embarrassingly little impact.

“Or maybe I’d fuck him wide open and let you watch me—“

In an instant too brief to calculate, the axe flashed and Niall heard a ‘thunk’, far too loud for how dull it was. The terror flooded him to stupefaction and he could feel his life truncated by a full decade. When his wits returned, his mind immediately began bracing itself for the gore he would no doubt be witnessing, but there was none. There was no blood or brains or bits of bone; just an axe lodged deeply into the clumpy, yellow grass and Cal, for as twisted as his head was, still held it aloft on his shoulders.

“You’re nothing to me,” Harry muttered, his voice so low it barely hit air, proving that Cal indeed didn’t even deserve to hear his words.

As Harry began loping towards Niall in his usual molasses stride, Cal simply wilted behind him. Niall could smell the astringet scent of piss. Perhaps it was blood loss or the pure humiliation, but Cal just sat in the impotence of a child with whom no one wanted to play.

“Mom, let go. Mom. Mom, it’s ok,” Harry said, crouching beside where Niall and Sheila were still tangled together. He had hold of his mother’s wrists, shaking gently to pry them loose. She was hiccupping and groaning like an overtired infant and Niall just felt bad for her. She didn’t seem aware that her son was near, even as she relinquished Niall’s shirt and lifted her head.

“Go inside, mom,” Harry directed. “Some people will come by soon to help.”

She nodded uncomprehendingly and staggered to her feet, leaning onto Harry’s arm. She was about to attempt the debris-littered path when Harry took her shoulders and said as clearly as Niall had ever heard him speak, “I’m not coming back, mom. I’m done with you. I’m done with this house. You’ll never see me again. Do you understand?”

The woman nodded as if this was something she had expected for some time. Harry squeezed her shoulders and left her, turning his attention to Niall. The young Irishman had managed to right himself and was dusting himself off, just to hide the shaking in his hands. All the same, Harry arrested one of them in his.

“It’s alright now,” he said, quiet as a secret. “Everything will be alright, now.”

~*~

They sat outside the backyard of a neighbor’s, on a caramel colored couch that had been too inconvenient to properly dispose of. Niall could still feel the adrenaline fizzing through his system and he hoped he wasn’t annoying Harry with his multiple calming breaths.

The boys were still holding hands. The length of them was pressed together, shoulder to ankle. The night was quiet and the stars were bright. Niall was pretty sure he was looking at Mars, and thought to mention it. Instead, he said, “We should go back. I’m cold.”

He needed to be folded in Harry’s arms, where he could hear the gring-gring-gring of their generator, and feel Maisie’s tiny claws as she kneaded his leg.

They walked, Harry as usual more sure-footed in the woods.

He felt light, lighter than he had in some time, as if the last piece of baggage had been dropped and now he and Harry could truly be together. The uncertainty of his future didn’t bother him, not with the surety of the man he loved beside him. Their lives could finally begin, now.

The glorious freedom of it made him laugh out loud. Harry didn’t ask him why he felt it; Niall knew he felt it too. Gentleness unfolded in him like a flower blossoming in his belly and when emergency vehicles sounded from the road, Niall was grateful that Cal and Sheila would be getting help; he wished them well, too.

It was about halfway through the woods back to the shed that Harry stopped in his tracks and lifted his head abruptly. It took Niall by surprise.

“What?” he asked, a beatific smile on his face.

Harry didn’t reply for a second. Then he let go of Niall’s hand. More emergency vehicles screamed from the road, but Niall didn’t think of them now.

“Do you smell that?” Harry asked.

“Smell what?”

But Harry didn’t reply. He took one half step, aborted another, and then broke into a run.

“Harry, what the…!”

Then he smelled it: It was thick and heavy, suddenly choking him and stinging his eyes.

Before he knew it, he was running, too. As he did so, tripping and stumbling over roots and twigs in the dimming visibility, he knew that the sirens and firetrucks were running alongside him, not going the other direction as he had initially thought.

When all he saw before him were swirls of black and grey, he looked to the skies, thinking perhaps he would see Mars; instead, he saw red. Flickering red, thrumming red that lit the horizon more violently than any sunrise.

He stopped running. His feet took root in the fertile earth as he stood with the trees that had given him shelter. Over the panting of his own breath, he could hear it; he could hear it eating the grass of the impossible field, eating the new gutter, the punching bag, the notebook he left discarded on the broken tile floor. Over that, he could hear Harry screaming the word ‘no’ like an unending chorus. He could feel it, how it sucked the moisture from the air, making his skin tight and his eyes unable to blink. At last, he could taste it; his jaw dropped wide in an endless yell, as his teeth, his tongue, his throat slowly filled with ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK -- I spent so long working on this, much sweat and tears. I would love your insightful reviews, it would mean so much to me.
> 
> Also, I'm particularly interested to know how you think the fire started...
> 
> Love you, friends.
> 
> Twitter: @gvbutterworth  
> Facebook: GV Butterworth  
> Tumblr: gvbutterworth
> 
> Please be sure to check out Pipetrial at the link below. I also have a Larry One Shot I intend to publish soon :)
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/5640547?view_full_work=true


	31. Epilogue

Niall burst into the tiny flat with the world-weariness of someone who had run six blocks in an early-winter Irish storm. He kicked off his boots, regretting that his eagerness for shelter had overwhelmed his very strict no-shoes-in-the flat rule. However, his regret was fleeting as he dropped his course books on the daybed and stripped off his soaked rain coat. He dragged the water-heavy garment onto the radiator, swearing at the slush trail it left across his wood floor. With no consideration for decency whatsoever, he kicked his socks haphazardly into the corner and unapologetically stripped his soggy-bottomed jeans from his body. These ended up puddled on the floor next to the radiator, which Niall determined was good enough.

Only then did he drop back onto the day bed that served both as a comfortable place to both play video games, and sleep. He heaved a massive sigh.

The course work that awaited him was a fiendish gaggle, but after his goodly sprint from St. Brendan’s to his bedsit above the breakfast nook on New Street, he reckoned he deserved the break. In fact, a night of bath, Netflix and an early bedtime seemed well warranted.

The old claw foot bath had been stoppered and was already filling the room with close, swampy warmth when the jingly tune of Niall’s cellphone pierced through the sound of running water. He considered not answering. However, curiosity bested pragmatism and he padded naked into the now-roasting main space of his bedsit.

As soon as he saw his brother’s name glowing on the screen, he scrambled to answer it.

“Oi!” Greg responded to Niall’s enthusiastic, “Hiya!” The cheap, tinny speaker on Niall’s phone could barely keep pace with the sound of reveling and merriment in the background.  “We’re at Murphy‘s! Had to beg off early because of the rain! Come have a pint.”

Niall felt the sharp, chest-oriented pang of conflict. He made a noise like a balloon with the air being pinched out. “Can’t, mate,” he said once empty. “Got final essays and that.”

“Harry’s here.”

“Wh—“ For a moment, Niall was silent. “What now?”

“Harry’s here! And two drinks in, by the look of it.”

A laugh gurgled up unexpectedly from Niall’s throat and at last, he felt his core start to warm.  “How did you manage that?”

“Craft and cunning,” Greg replied. There was a roar in the background that led Niall to believe the KFKC game as on the telly and something either wonderful or terrible had happened – it was always hard to tell. As soon as the din had quieted enough, Greg, voice still pitched up, explained, “I just asked him if he’d join us and he did.”

“Fuck me,” Niall replied, and, getting a sense of the new direction in which his night was heading, skipped back into the bathroom to turn the spigot off.

“Did I tell you he’s been talking more at work? Come out, mate,” his brother wheedled. “One night of fun, then back to finals madness.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall conceded, resigning himself to slipping back into the wet socks, wet jeans, and wet jacket of which he’d already disposed himself. “You have a pint waiting for me, I’ll be there.”

“Done.”

~*~

The moment Niall walked through the door of Murphy’s on College, he was smacked in the face with the boggy aroma of wet, unshowered construction crew. A third of them had kids that were part of Niall’s junior footie league that he coached every weekend. All the same, when he made his way through them, he was greeted with, “Hey, who’s this kid?”

It was Austin, the foreman. He was a burly fellow who probably needed a barstool and a half to properly support his girth. However, his jollity became his size and his forgiving heart and preserved Harry’s position on his crew more than once.

“Is he old enough to be in here?” Kerry, one of the carpenters followed up with a smoky laugh. Her daughter, Kerry Jr., was Niall’s goalie, and possibly Niall’s favorite of the youngsters. Kerry Jr. had been too shy to speak during the tenure of their previous coach, Mr. Tarkington, to the degree where Kerry Sr. had taken her to several doctors to see if some neurological disorder was at play. No, the returned test results said, her shyness was simply a run-of-the-mill personality trait. Kerry and her husband resigned themselves to life with a severely introverted daughter until young, fit Mr. Tarkington was diagnosed with advanced fibrosarcoma. He was in no pain, but the immediate schedule of chemotherapy and radiation meant that running up and down the field with a bunch of 5-7 year olds was simply out of the question. Mr. Tarkington, a man too good for a disease so bad, sought a replacement before he was too ill to do so, and it was Kerry that recommended her boss’ kid brother, Niall.

Oh, no, Niall had said. It was true, he conceded, he had played football in America, but he’d had to stop when an injury to his hip (the origin of which was left unsaid) prevented him from too much physical activity. Indeed, his hip forced him to run with a limp and, when he tried to execute his devastating on-goal kick, would make his leg give out from under him entirely. Mr. Tarkington, knowing an answered prayer when he saw one, insisted.

At first, the kids thought his limp was funny. They teased him for it, and he teased them right back. Then, as their fondness for him grew, they began to emulate it, choosing to skip up and down the field with coltish merriment whenever they were called in for the evening. It became a trademark.

The kids loved him. He loved them. In fact, he loved them so much that they eventually began to fill his thoughts more than school did and, eventually, more than the recent past. So, he began smiling more, laughing more. But he never smiled and laughed so much as when little Kerry Jr. asked to stand in as goalie. It was the first time she spoke to him. Often, she would come off the field mid-game and hug his leg until the match was called, but “If I’m not too wee, I’d like to be goalie today,” were the first words she’d ever spoken to him.

He was proud of her. He was proud of his whole team and he was even learning to be proud of himself. He only wished Harry would come and watch a game, so he could be proud of him, too.

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall rolled his eyes, shaking their hands once they’d had their laugh. “Exams are brutal. You’d know that if you’d actually graduated.”

His friends groaned and cawed in approval of a jibe well-placed.

“You see who we netted?” Kerry asked, nodding a head of hair that had been misshapen by both hard hat and harder rain. She was nodding at a man across the bar whose hair was cropped close to the sides and only the slightly longer locks atop hinted at the luxurious curls that once fell there. His cheeks were dimpled by a gentle, if not somewhat boozy smile. The second degree burn scar that came up his throat and lashed at his left cheek all the way to his temple was losing its discoloration, although the skin would forever be hard and withered; the grime-encrusted, tattooed fingers which clutched at a half-full, frosty pint were better healed, but they still caused Harry pain and limited his mobility. However, it was clear his injuries were causing him no trouble tonight.

“Never thanked you for bringing him to me,” Austin said in his lyrical southern brogue, bringing a strong, working-man’s  hand down on Niall’s shoulder.

“Think you cursed me a time or two,” Niall grinned, leaning into the large man, but his eyes remaining locked on their quarry.

“He’s settled in, now,” Kerry said. “Not half so jumpy and skittish as he was.”

“Focused as hell, though,” Austin said, shifting and making the bar stool beneath him groan precariously. “Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but never seen so much care. Had to practically tear him away today. Even when it was really coming down.”

“Harry loves houses,” Niall said, his voice dreamy and far away.

“Go on, then! Stop staring all moony-eyed and give him a squidge!” Kerry insisted, knocking him with her shoulder.

Niall nodded and wandered off, but he didn’t follow her instruction.

He retreated to a high top and perched there by himself for a moment, stalking his own lover across the room. He hadn’t seen Harry like this before, if ever, and he needed a moment to observe, to confirm his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

Harry was happy.

He was sat next to Greg, quiet as was his wont, but smiling, engaged with the conversation and comradery in which he was a willing participant. When he did speak, the company around him would hush and lean in as if to help coax his slow, low words into the open. Upon hearing them, Greg would laugh and Harry would flush and hunch in pleasure.

And he was so, so beautiful.

Greg spotted him first, smiling, but not tipping Harry off to the fact that they had a spectator. Then, as if he was showing off, he leaned over to Harry and asked him a question. Niall couldn’t make out their words, but he got the sense Greg had asked him about his intentions for the weekend. Through the low rumble of the bar, one word pierced the noise: The sound of Harry saying Niall’s name. Niall was certain he could hear Harry say his name through the roar of a hurricane. It spurred him to action, propelling him across the room to his lover’s side.

He said, “Hiya,” and gently stroked a hand over Harry’s close-cropped hair. My God, but Niall missed his curls.

Harry turned to Niall and his relaxed and merry countenance became even moreso when he saw who it was.

“Hey,” he said, making room for Niall to come under his arm. His back and shoulders had become even stronger and thicker after long days of lifting lumber and hauling cement. He smelled like sweat and the muggy damp of the rain and Niall could feel the heat of his body radiating from under his heavy canvass coat. He studied Harry’s face and the man looked almost shy at being caught having a good time.

“Look at you, out with all your friends, being popular,” Niall teased.

Harry’s bashfulness increased and he confessed softly, “I’ve been feeling really good.”

“You look really good.”

“We almost finished the farm house today,” Harry said, his voice honey sweet with happiness. “I can imagine where all the animals will be.”

“Harry was telling me about this exciting weekend you have planned,” Greg said, leaning in and breaking up their intimate conference.

Niall laughed, “A real thrill. Me and the kids have a footie game and Harry’ll sleep til noon—“

“I’m gonna come,” Harry mumbled as he tenderly nuzzled Niall behind his ear.

“What?” Niall turned to look at him.

“I’m gonna come. To your footie game. Cheer in the stands and everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You won’t be too tired?”

He saw Harry’s eyes shift to Greg, as if this was something they had discussed earlier. Then he shrugged and said, “I’ll crash out and watch TV for the rest of the day and I won’t move. But I wanna come see your game – see the kids.”

It may not have sounded like much, but to Niall it was huge. He leaned in and gave Harry a very grateful, truly fond kiss. “Thanks, baby,” he whispered against his lips. “Means a lot to me.”

In response, Harry’s grip on his shoulder became firmer, pulled him closer. Niall closed his hand over Harry’s and felt where the fire had melted and reformed his flesh, making it plastic-smooth. It didn’t frighten him anymore; it only reminded him of Harry’s strength, durability, and devotion.

“Nearly finished the entire house himself today,” Greg laughed, giving Harry a few hearty whacks on the back. “Couldn’t tear him away.”

Harry’s brow furrowed and his full lips assumed a pout. “It was raining,” he explained, as if deflecting criticism. “You can’t leave a house with no roof when it’s raining.”

“It rains every day, mate!” Greg pointed out.

“S’why I work so hard,” Harry said, hiding in a sip of his beer. Greg laughed at his humility and Niall watched as a laugh burbled out of his love and blew bubbles in his beer. Harry laughing openly was new. This laughing, socializing phoenix that was arising from the ashes of Jefferson Valley High was a person Niall could only fall more deeply in love with. His hand went instinctively to the necklace he’d had made the day they stepped foot in Ireland: a molar tooth, roots and all, hung on a tiny silver chain.

In addition to giving Harry a job at the construction company that was Torey’s father’s, and for whom he was project manager, Greg had helped Harry get a replacement tooth, all despite the fact that Harry wasn’t a citizen of Ireland, yet.

Greg and Torey had been their ministering angels. It was Greg Niall had called as he awaited news outside Harry’s hospital room. When Niall had no other home or safe haven, Greg offered his; when Niall refused to leave Harry behind, Greg bought a second ticket; when Niall couldn’t get off the couch and Harry started picking fights in bars, Torey enrolled Niall in a good secondary school and Greg pulled strings to get Harry a position on his construction team; Torey had found them a flat they could afford on Harry’s salary, and when Harry had sunk into a near-silent depression, Greg, Torey, the construction crew, hell, what felt like the whole of Killarney was there for them, patient, supportive, and ever willing to buy the first round.

Today was just the first day Harry took them up on it.

~*~

That night, they made love. The passion had been too intense for them to throw all of the pillows off of their daybed, so they hadn’t much space and had to kick Maisie out of the cozy little kitty nest she had made on the end closest to the heater.

Niall was on his back, his knees hiked up as high as he could manage on Harry’s ribs, while the other man braced himself above him, grunting with the exertion of each of his thrusts. The little radiator that kept their flat warm and dry clanked and rattled and it was a bit of a competition to see if they could make their coupling as floor-board-shakingly obnoxious.

Niall scrabbled with curling fingers at the back of Harry’s skull and the nape of his neck and he squeaked out irritably, “Miss your hair!” He needed a second to get more air in his lungs before he wheezed, “Nothing to hold onto…”

Harry pushed himself up from where he was leisurely draped across his lover and took hold of Niall’s wrists. He guided them down to rest on his ass, where he encouraged him to grip. When he thrust again, Niall felt the soft plush of his muscle turn rocky with strength and he instinctively dug his fingers in, helping Harry drive harder.

“Oh, fucking Jesus!” he yelped, wondering how in hell he’d never figured this out, before. His legs kicked out at awkward angles and he threw his head back to moan out his pleasure. He felt Harry at his throat, kissing and marking him, just as crazed by their abstinence as Niall was.

It had been too long and Niall was coming before he wanted to, gripping Harry’s arse so hard he was interfering with his lover’s ability to thrust. In fact, the orgasm took him so intensely, he seized up slightly and Harry had to reach back and manually disengage Niall’s hands. In some corner of his awareness, Niall could feel where his nails had driven in too deeply and broken the skin.

He was about to apologize, but he heard Harry’s breathing become jagged and arrhythmic and his hips started thrashing with purpose and Niall knew he was about to come as well. His mind cleared of his orgasm, he bore down on Harry’s cock, rocking with him and milking him internally. Harry grunted loud and low and Niall’s toes curled in delight and victory at having elicited the sound.

“Love you, Harry,” Niall whispered, nuzzling into the sweat-soaked curls at Harry’s temples. The man let out a sharp bark and drove into Niall hard and Niall felt that molten heat blossom in him as Harry came.

As Harry’s breath began to even out, Niall gently stroked the inside of his thighs against the man’s hips, just enjoying the feeling of him. When Harry made a gesture to disengage from him, Niall clamped down with his thighs and he took two demanding handfuls of buttcheek again to keep him in place.

“Just—Not yet,” he pleaded softly, willing Harry with doe-eyes to understand. Harry looked stymied for a moment, but then he nodded and leaned in to give Niall the silkiest, steamiest, tenderest kisses Niall had ever received from him. They made Niall feel drunk and dopey and he looped his arms around Harry’s neck, wanting to live in those kisses forever. They were the kind of kisses that coaxed buttery sighs from the depths of his belly and, when Harry denied him his lips too long, nasally, petulant grunts. Harry rocked him, side to side, back and forth, within him, as the wet, slow sound of their gently gasping mouths drowned out the patter of the rain on the window. Niall’s eyelids were heavy and he thought he’d never open them again, until the paradise of Harry’s kisses was gone and no amount of high-pitched whining could make them return.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a pair of dimples and laughing green eyes tracing over his features. The sight soothed the wrinkle out of Niall’s brow and he found himself smiling as well, despite the subtle burn from Harry’s stubble.

“What?” Niall snorted, somewhat embarrassed to have been reviewed without his knowing.

“You’re cute,” Harry returned. “Needy little baby.”

Niall smacked him hard on the ass for that, but graciously accepted the kiss that was angling for his lips all the same.

“I’ve missed you,” he purred breathlessly, Harry’s lip still between his.

“I’m right here,” Harry returned, and even added a slow roll of his hips to illustrate exactly how ‘here’ he truly was.

Niall gasped and felt a new flutter of arousal skitter through him. His eyes lulled briefly, but he didn’t lose Harry’s gaze. “You know what I mean,” he whispered. He stroked his thumb over Harry’s mouth and he could tell by the way the other man lowered his eyes that he understood.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, taking Niall’s wrist and kissing the blue filigree there. Niall let Harry hide in the nuzzling of his hand for several moments, soothingly stroking over his close-cropped curls. Then he said, “I’m so happy you came out, tonight. Everyone was glad you were there.”

The rain got louder now that they were talking. The sound of it was a dull echo punctuated by staccato taps of particularly large drops. It made the air thick and cold in a way that the furnace couldn’t combat.

There was just enough light, a joint effort of both the moon and the streetlamps coming in through the window, that Niall could make out the look of concentration on Harry’s face, even as he tried to hide it. Somewhat abruptly, Harry lifted himself from Niall’s embrace and the grip of his body and Niall hissed softly, his leg jerking at the sudden pain and wet heat.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered low, folding his hand over Niall’s exposure, knowing his lover hated the feeling of being open and undefended. Niall’s hand joined his, to ensure it would remain pressed between his thighs, keeping him safe.

It was in this incredibly intimate position they held the following conversation.

“I, um…” Harry said, his eyes pointedly going nowhere near Niall’s face. “I talked to Greg.”

“Right,” Niall said encouragingly, even though he had no idea where this conversation was going, but its seeming importance making the apprehension pull slightly at his shoulders and his stomach.

“We were talking about, um…” But Harry trailed off, his thumb stroking distractedly over the inside of Niall’s thigh. “I mean, we thought it might be best if, maybe, I went to see somebody.”

“To see…?”

Niall stared up at Harry, who was propped on his side with one elbow, but the man wouldn’t lift his gaze from somewhere around Niall’s navel. This left Niall with the unsavory task of trying to deduce what exactly was under discussion here, but Harry suddenly, shyly amended, so quick and low, as if he was hoping Niall wouldn’t hear him, “For pills or something…”

“Oh,” Niall said, his voice little more than a disruption of the air.

This had been Niall’s idea, originally. After he had spent several sexless weeks watching Harry grind himself to a nub at work and then spend his every free moment sleeping, or staring through the television, he wondered if medical intervention wouldn’t be helpful. ‘You’ve suffered a loss,’ Niall had told him. ‘It isn’t unthinkable that you’d be depressed.’

But Harry had responded with such affronted refusal, and locked himself in the bathroom for two hours, only to re-emerge to sleep for twelve, that Niall had never thought to bring the issue up again.

“What changed your mind?” Niall asked, careful to not say the wrong thing that might dissuade his love from this new perspective.

Harry’s lips twisted in a brief micro-expression of guilt and his brow became heavy. “I—You’ve been sad,” he said, still unable to lift his eyes from the soft of Niall’s belly. “I haven’t… I haven’t been able to take care of you how I want to—“

“Harry, you bring in all the money, you’ve—“

“Not like that.”

Niall couldn’t pretend to not know what he was talking about. It was a very distinct experience of pathos the first time Niall had had to wank himself off in over a year, while his lover was in an imperturbable sleep right next to him; and that Harry had never come to see his kids play, silly as their footie games were, always dampened Niall’s enjoyment of them.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Niall whispered, reaching up to stroke over his lover’s cheek. “I mean, tonight was fun, wasn’t it? Don’t you think we should be doing this all the time?”

After a goofy snortle, Harry was positively beaming. He nuzzled into Niall’s hand, overjoyed with agreement. “I feel better already,” he said, “just knowing, you know… Someone’s gonna help me. I’m relieved, you know?”

Niall knew. He felt it, too.

“I’m so proud of you, Harry,” he said, and couldn’t help but smile when he saw tears well in Harry’s cat eyes; he laughed out loud when Harry sought to hide his reaction by burying his face in Niall’s bare shoulder. “I am,” Niall insisted. “I’m so proud to call you my boyfriend.”

He wanted to call him something more; but he was unprepared and his poor heart could only take so much bursting for one evening. Besides, Greg had made him promise he would wait until the frontal lobes of their brains had fully developed, around twenty two.

“Maybe later we can talk about you taking a bit of time off work,” Niall chirped happily, but before he’d even gotten the sentence out of his mouth, he felt the tension start to build in the body atop him.

He’d pushed too far.

He was used to Harry’s moods after so long with him. He knew this one well. It was comprised of a powerful will to resist that had been learned from an upbringing of having no one prioritize his needs, and instead used him as a scape goat and whipping boy. Niall immediately understood that Harry felt like he was having one of his comforts stripped from him, like blankets, bottles, friends, futures had been ripped from him in his younger years.

The comforting hand left where it had been lovingly nuzzled tightly against his hole, and Harry would have left him entirely, if Niall wasn’t so fast to take hold of his shoulders. “Hey,” he said gently, his grip tightening when Harry jerked. “You don’t have to. I know how important it is to you. I won’t make you, either, Harry, I won’t ask you to.”

Harry was folded in on himself, as if his spine was trying to make a break for it in spite of his shoulders’ captivity. His mouth was heavy with displeasure and his brow clouded his eyes like storm cover.

“I know how important it is to you,” Niall reiterated slowly, to be sure Harry understood him. “I won’t take it away from you. Neither will Greg. No one will.”

“But you want me to. You want me to stop working so much.”

“I miss you,” Niall conceded with a little laugh. “I want to see more of you. Hell, I want to see you all the time. But I know that’s not reasonable; and I know that working on the houses is a real comfort to you. And right now, you being happy and comfortable is what matters more than anything.  Ok?”

That Harry was chewing on his lips was a sign he’d gotten through. Neither was Niall dispirited by the resulting silence. It was broken when Harry said, “I do want to come to your little league game this weekend. Kerry says the kids are really cute.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Niall laughed, his hands loosening their grip enough to stroke up and down Harry’s impressive biceps and forearms, “I can’t wait for you to meet Kerry, Jr. She’s five. Been meaning to ask you if we can adopt her.”

Harry looked momentarily shocked, but then registered that it was a joke. “Would Kerry mind?”

“You can ask her this weekend.”

They curled together, their joint laughter musical and harmonious.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Harry said, all the tension of the brewing storm having passed without so much as a sprinkle. “You should come with me. I wanna make you come again.”

His hand was back on Niall’s thigh, trailing up the inside of it until he was gently scooping up Niall’s balls in his palm, letting his fingers tickle him between his cheeks.

“Yeah,” Niall gasped, knowing full well that they were going to be regretting this when their alarm went off in just a few hours’ time, but certain it was worth every minute of it. “Call me when the water’s hot.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but crawled out from under the warm security of their covers anyway, while Niall tittered in self-congratulatory giggles as he scurried to keep the blankets tight about him before the cold air could get in.

“I spoil you,” Harry said, pretending spoiling Niall didn’t give him great pleasure.

“Because you love me.”

“More than anything in the world.”

As the sound of the water turning on filled the entire flat and made the pipes shake, Niall cuddled himself under the covers and titillated himself with the promise of ruthlessly seducing his lover until they were both too sleepy to care about going to bed with their hair wet.

He was getting hard, rubbing his thighs together to feel the ache in his core, when the familiar ping-plop of a Facebook message sounded on his phone. Like all who have been once bitten, it was with great shyness that Niall had ventured back into the world of social media. Harry had made clear that he didn’t understand his generation’s obsession with social media and no doubt never would, but he still smiled genuinely when Niall grabbed his scruff and pulled him in for selfies.

He hadn’t made much ado of his return, accepting only friend requests from a few of his mates at St. Brendan’s, a few of his kids’ parents, and, of course, Zayn and Hannah. It was the former he assumed was texting him, since only someone with an eight hour time difference would be messaging at this ungodly hour.

While he had pegged the time zone, he’d failed on the sender. Alarmingly bright on his phone was a notification that he had been sent a message from one TommoCat SunKing. It took little contemplation to deduce who was behind such a transparent nom de plume.

Niall hesitated for a moment, then hoisted himself into a sitting position. The notification previewed the first few words of the missive and Niall knew with certainty that he would be reading it, despite his wiser judgment. All the same, he glanced up at the rattling of pipes in the bathroom in a sort of apology before swiping his phone open to indulge his curiosity.

The message was concise: Hey. I hope you’re doing good in Ireland. Maybe we could talk some time. I have a lot I’d like to say to you. Call me if you want. Or Skype. Are you ever coming back here?

At the bottom was a phone number, as if Louis had intuited that Niall had deleted it from his phone. As Niall reread the words, a second text came in, no doubt prompted by the ‘Seen at 3:12 am’ stamp that belied that Niall was online.

The second message read simply: I miss u.

Niall clicked his phone off and hid it under his pillow, as if Louis could peer through the device itself and see him. His heartrate was much too fast and his shoulders bunched defensively. It had been foolish for him to believe that he might have left his fury behind, with the rest of that life that didn’t serve him.

“Water’s hot!” Harry’s voice rang out from the bathroom and Niall took the deep breath he had been denying himself. That breath was so refreshing, he took another; then several more. He took his hand out from under the pillow, leaving the phone there, and used it to rub his face. That was when the door opened and two cat-like green eyes peered out at him. “You coming?” Harry asked, half-hiding behind the door as if the shower sex they were about to indulge in was the first sex they’d ever had. It made Niall laugh, and though the tension left his body, the phone under the pillow, and what was on it, was burning brightly in the back of his mind.

“Is it ready for me?”

“Well ready.”

“Are _you_ ready for me?”

“Always,” Harry replied, using his great hand to draw Niall close when he came into reach and place a heart-swelling kiss on his lips.

“I love you, Harry.”

“I love you, too.”

And with that, Niall stepped with his lover into the steam.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it.
> 
> If you stuck with me this far, I thank you so much. I'm so grateful to have you all as readers. If you enjoyed it, the best thing you could possibly do for me is share this. Please, share, share, share. I have more writing to come, other works that I'll be posting, along with finishing up Pipetrial. (This one is also hard to let go, so I may post one-shots or snippets, just for shits and giggles.) 
> 
> As always, I would love to hear from you. I mean, I would really love to hear all your thoughts. It's the best payment I could receive (also the only payment I can receive :p )
> 
> There are a few things I'm wondering:
> 
> What do you think Narry's relationship was like between the fire and this?
> 
> What do you think about Harry's deciding to get on meds?
> 
> Do you think they have a future together, or is it just first love?
> 
> What do you think Harry would look like with burn scars?
> 
>  
> 
> Come visit me. I'd love to chat:
> 
> Twitter: @gvbutterworth  
> Facebook: GV Butterworth  
> Tumblr: gvbutterworth


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